Void
by ProtoZivot
Summary: One year ago, tragedy stuck the Halliwell brothers. Since then, Chris and Wyatt's relationship has been strained. Still stuggling to recover, a wrong turn on a road trip may take all they have to survive. If they do, can they finally heal from old wounds? NON-MAGIC STORY
1. Chapter 1

**Before you guys all start swearing at me for starting another story I have good news. This one is entirely finished. Gasp. I know. I actually finished a chapter story. A round of applause? No? Fine. humph.**

**Anyway, this is an odd on just so you know. There are four chapters and one epilogue (don't think that's spelled right...oh well...wait yes it is). I will be updating once a week...or more often. Depends. **

**So this is a non-magic story with Chris and Wyatt. Enjoy**

**Oh, no beta so all the terrible, terrible writing is my fault. :) **

**Disclaimer: **

**A: I don't own charmed. Nope. Chris and Wyatt are not mine. I just steal, ahem I mean borrow, them from time to time. I give them back eventually. **

**B: In this story, I can't even claim all the plot. Bits and pieces yes...all of it no. The majority is "borrowed" from the horror film Vacancy as it was what gave me the entire idea. In fact...it's pretty much just Vacancy with Chris and Wyatt instead of Amy and David. But I did add some stuff so don't sue me for just rewriting the freaking movie. **

**I thought it was an interesting challenge to take an established plot, splice in new characters, and see where it took me.**

**This is where it took me. **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Wyatt rubbed is face wearily hoping to scrub away some of the exhaustion threatening to overtake him. He glanced over at his little brother taking in the pale complexion heightened by the dark hair, and his tired expression despite the fact that he was sleeping. Chris shifted slightly, almost like he sensed Wyatt's gaze before settling back down propped uncomfortably against the door.

Wyatt shook his head refocusing his eyes on the dark road. It was the middle of the night in the middle of freaking nowhere with nothing but endless empty rolling hills cut neatly by the deserted two lane road he drove on.

He looked at Chris again, feeling the familiar ache in his chest that he always felt when he saw Chris nowadays. Part pain, part pity, all love. Chris was his world now, and even thought he knew that feeling wasn't mutual, his own never wavered. If anything were to happen to Chris now. Wyatt shook his head. He didn't know what he would do. _If _something happened to Chris…

A dull blur darted out into the road just ahead of him, and Wyatt, his normally sharp reflexes much duller than they had been thirteen hours ago, yanked the steering wheel to the left hard swearing when the car slid off the side of the road. It slammed into the ditch bouncing up and grating across a couple rocks.

Chris jolted in his seat, hands flying to the dash board as if to brace himself as the car came to a halt. He scrambled a bit jerkily clawing at his seatbelt before pushing the door open and all but launching himself out of the car.

Wyatt swore again shoving his own door open. He watched a possum saunter almost happily across the road and start munching at piece of road kill. Gripping the door hard and fighting the urge to add the possum to the pile of road kill, Wyatt turned facing Chris who was bent over slightly and leaning against the car not looking anywhere near as happy as the possum.

"There was a possum in the middle of the road," Wyatt stated gesturing unnecessarily at the animal on the road.

Chris shot him a look of disbelief. "Oh yeah Wyatt, better to kill us than decrease the poor possum population by one, huh?"

Wyatt bit his lip, fighting to restrain the want to roll his eyes. Yes, Chris was his world now, but that didn't mean the kid still didn't tick him off at times. "We're still alive, Chris. I can tell by that pissy look you're giving me."

Chris scowled. "Really? That's nice." He looked away staring into the dark hills. "Where the hell are we?"

Wyatt raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"This isn't the interstate, Wyatt."

The blonde nodded. "I know. Taking a shortcut."

He got back in the car gesturing for Chris to do the same. Chris swallowed and slid back into his seat shutting his door and buckling his seatbelt slowly. Once he was settled, Wyatt reversed back onto the road.

"Shortcut through where?" Chris asked after a minute.

Wyatt shrugged. "New Mexico I think. Or Arizona. Some place really."

Chris gave him an exasperated look muttering something under his breath and took a drink of water from a bottle. He closed his eyes leaning against the seat and breathing slowly.

Wyatt chewed at his lip worriedly. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Wyatt."

"You sure."

"I said I'm fine," Chris ground out.

Wyatt nodded letting the matter go and drove in silence for a few minutes. He cocked his head to the side hearing a faint clunk noise from the engine.

"Did you hear that?" he asked.

Chris opened his eyes. "Hear wh—"

Wyatt held up his hand silencing his brother and listening closely to the engine. "I think the engine made a noise."

Chris rolled his eyes and looked at the clock. It was nearing one in the morning. "Kinda late for a breakdown now, dontcha think? You should have stopped somewhere earlier."

Wyatt shrugged not hearing anything else from the car. "Probably nothing. And I popped some of those trucker pills back in Texas. Thought I could make it all the way."

Chris huffed and slouched in his seat. "Whatever it takes to get this stupid trip over with as fast as possible."

"Come on now Chris," Wyatt rebuked softly. "I think it was good to see them again."

Chris snorted turning towards the window even more. "Yeah, whatever."

Wyatt sighed staring straight ahead again, hands flexing around the steering wheel. "You want a snack or something. There are some chips in the back."

"I'm fine," Chris said, almost before Wyatt finished. But he reached into the bag anyway producing an apple and knife. He expertly wedged the knife in cutting out a chunk. Almost thoughtlessly he offered it to Wyatt before eating it when the blonde refused. He cut out another piece munching wordlessly.

Wyatt cleared his throat beginning to think he'd liked it better when Chris was sleeping. Then he hadn't felt so awkward. On the upside, he felt completely awake now which only served to make him hyperaware of the silence in the car.

"You were really dreaming over there," he said finally. "Mumbling and jerking around."

Chris glanced at him and shrugged. "I dreamed you were trying to kill me. We were at Paige's party and they wouldn't stop talking about…them. You started screaming that you couldn't take it anymore and started strangling me."

Wyatt tightened his grip on the wheel cursing himself for mentioning dreaming as he gave a stiff nod. "You know I'd never do that."

Chris nodded pushing the knife into the apple again. "I know."

The car bounced over a pothole and Chris gasped as the knife slipped slicing into the soft fleshy part of his finger. He immediately brought the finger to his mouth sucking gently at the wound.

"You okay?" Wyatt asked concerned.

Chris nodded waving off Wyatt's alarmed look.

"I keep telling you how stupid that is. Why don't you just bite the damn apple like the rest of the world?"

Chris scowled tossing the bloodied apple onto the dash. "Hurts my teeth," he muttered carefully wrapping a band-aid around his still bleeding finger.

"As bad as cutting your finger off?" Wyatt asked seriously.

"It's not anything," Chris protested putting the knife and apple back in the bag. He settled back against his seat staring silently at the dark hills rushing by.

Wyatt drove quietly for a bit before reaching up to turn on the radio. He fiddled with the knobs sighing when all he got was static. Glancing at the road, he started to rifle through the CDs knowing better than to ask Chris to do it. He paused at a homemade CD biting his lip before sliding it in the player. He turned the volume up slightly tossing a wary glance at Chris as the first notes sounded.

The brunette tensed, turning hesitantly before looking at Wyatt fully. "Why do you have that?" he asked an accusatory note in his voice.

Wyatt shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I like hearing it." Chris huffed mumbling incoherently as he slumped down. "Look, Chris, you deal your way and I'll deal my way, m'kay?"

Chris didn't answer, but a few minutes later, a great deal longer than Wyatt thought it would take, he sat forward and punched the button to eject the CD. He leaned back staring out the window again.

"They're gone," he stated.

Wyatt smiled faintly. "At one-freaking-thirty in the middle of godforsaken nowhere, I'll take what I can get."

Chris chuckled mirthlessly. "It's been a year. You should know by now all we've got left is each other. And that's nowhere near enough."

Wyatt felt his heart clench painfully at the words all too aware of the truth they held for Chris but not for him. Chris was more than enough for him, but he apparently wasn't enough for Chris.

* * *

><p>Wyatt drove for another half an hour before telling Chris to dig the atlas out from the backseat. Chris glared at him acidly as he did so, struggling to unfold it in his lap and focusing a flashlight on it. Wyatt glanced at the map as he drove eventually leaning over to tap a small, narrow road winding across the sheet.<p>

"We should be about there," he mused.

Chris sighed, glowering at the map like it had personally assaulted him. "Why didn't you just stay on the freaking interstate? I mean would it really have been that hard?"

Wyatt clenched his jaw. "I don't know," he snapped, exhaustion wearing his patience thinner than it'd usually be. "Guess I wanted to make this as miserable as possible. See how big a bitch you could be about it."

He saw Chris's fist clench around the light and watched the firm line of his chin settle as he locked his jaw in an effort to keep from lashing back. Wyatt sighed, feeling the flash of anger and frustration fade a bit.

"I thought it would be faster," he admitted.

Chris gave a nearly imperceptible nod going back to scrutinizing the map though Wyatt knew he wasn't really looking at it. Chris could read a map about as well as he could read a Spanish novel. An odd word here or there made sense, but, as a whole, it might as well be gibberish. He would definitely have to buy Chris a GPS.

Chris looked up matching Wyatt's grimace at a rather loud clanking from the engine.

"Shit," Wyatt breathed stepping on the brake lightly.

Chris gnawed at his lip and leaned forward suddenly. He squinted at the windshield and pointed. "Is that something ahead?"

Wyatt drove slower, wincing with each clang, and never felt happier than he did as he watched the faded, old neon sign for the service station draw into view.

"There is a god," he muttered, turning into the lot.

A small, paint-peeling building form the fifties or forties, with a single gas pump out front, sat ominously among the dark hills. There were several large fireworks signs hanging along the room, and one of the hand painted signs read, "Every day is the Fourth of July at Small's".

Chris scowled reading the sign. "I hate the Fourth of July."

Wyatt let the car roll to a stop near the pump. He and Chris leaned forward slightly, both taking in the dark windows of the old building.

"Guess they're probably closed," Wyatt said neutrally.

Chris shook his head. "Yeah. Probably since 1957."

Wyatt sighed glancing at the pump and inwardly chuckling at the prices. "That's too bad. Good price on gas they got here."

Chris ignored him looking at the atlas again. He didn't object when Wyatt leaned over tugging the map from his hands.

"I remember going through that place there…Elida. You were asleep. Probably two or three hours ago. Maybe," he said.

Chris nodded. "Then that has to put us down here somewhere," he said pointing.

"There's a town…Downey. Gotta be a real car place there."

"If that's really were we are," Chris pointed out, ever the pessimist.

Wyatt glanced at the LED compass on the dash shrugging. "We're headed west. Eventually we have to hit California."

Chris scowled shaking his head. He looked up stifling a startled shout. Wyatt jerked around coming face to face with a man about his age, early-mid twenties, with short blonde hair and a friendly face.

"Sorry," the man said looking apologetic.

Wyatt let out a short chuckle, restarting his heart and glancing at Chris who had his eyes closed and a hand over his mouth. Wyatt rolled down his window.

The man grinned. "Just don't get much business around here. Wanted to make sure I got to you before you left. But I've gotta warn you, the gas price is a little steeper than the sign says."

Wyatt shook his head. "Actually, we're just having a little car trouble. I, uh, dodged a possum a few miles back."

"And we're lost," Chris spoke up, seeming to have recovered himself.

Wyatt sighed. "He's lost. I know right where I am. We're on our way to Downey," he said pointing down the road.

The man nodded looking thoughtful and subtly motioned his head in the opposite direction of Wyatt's finger. It took a moment before Wyatt understood, but Chris caught on first.

"He's telling you it's the other way, Wyatt," he stated bluntly.

The man nodded. "Yeah. Sorry. But it's real easy to get turned around out here without a map."

Chris arched a brow humorlessly and held up their atlas.

"Oh," the man said blinking. "Well, Downey's about thirty miles back. If you wanna pop the hood, I'll take a look and make sure you'll get that far."

Wyatt ignored Chris's smirk as he agreed, popping the hood and getting out of the car to look at the engine with the man.

"I hate to bother you with it this late," he said.

The man waved his hand dismissively leaning down to get a better look. "Oh, it's no bother at all."

Wyatt rubbed the back of his neck. "I, uh, went off the road, with the possum. Think I hit a low spot."

The man nodded reaching in and tinkering around. "Looks like it, yeah. Could you hit the gas for me?"

Wyatt climbed in the car and hit the gas. He and Chris leaned down some, peering under the crack of the open hood, watching the man's hands move around the engine. He pulled a wrench from his pocket and reached back under the hood.

"Who keeps a wrench in their pocket?" Chris muttered. Louder he asked, "Can he fix it?"

Wyatt shrugged and called out the window to the man. "What do you think?"

The man slammed the hood down walking around the car to Chris's side. Chris leaned back some not liking how close the guy was. The man lent on the door sticking his head halfway in the car and sighed. He shrugged smiling at Chris.

"Fan blade's bent. Rock musta hit it. She'll still drive fine. Just a bit noisy is all. You might want to have somebody smarter than me check it when you get where you're goin' though."

Wyatt nodded. "I'll do that, thanks. What do I owe you?"

"We're good. I should pay you for finally giving me something to do," the man chuckled. "Now do you need to know how to get back to Downey?"

Wyatt shook his head. "Actually, if you could point us back to the interstate, we're trying to get back to California."

"Emphasis on trying," Chris muttered ignoring the irritated look from Wyatt.

The man chuckled at the comment. "You don't want Downey then," he said. He shifted leaning further in the car to point at the map. "About seven miles down, there'll be a road on your right with a grove of trees beside it. Take that and keep goin' till you hit Westcliff. You'll run into a four lane there. Hang a left on that and it'll take you right back where you need to be."

"Thanks a lot," Wyatt said. He pulled a twenty from his pocket holding it out for the man to take. "Here. This way I won't feel guilty for dragging you out here so late."

The man shrugged but took the money. He reached in his back pocket and pulled out a sparkler. He flicked his cigarette lighter igniting it. "Well…You just bought yourself a twenty dollar sparkler."

He held it out to Chris who, after a quick glance at Wyatt, gingerly took it holding it outside the window.

"Every day's the Fourth of July at Small's." The man rolled his eyes and motioned to the sign. "Owner makes me say it. You drive careful now," he said stepping back and waving.

Chris waved the sparkler out the window, staring at it intently as Wyatt pulled out of the lot and back onto the road. Wyatt watched him closely from the corner of his eye. Chris professed to hate Fourth of July, but Wyatt knew he missed the celebrations they used to have just as much as he did. And, as if to prove him right, Wyatt noticed a small smile start to bloom on his little brother's face.

"Guess maybe I should buy you a box of sparklers, huh?" he asked, glad to finally see a happy expression from Chris.

His words had the opposite effect of their intended purpose though. Chris's smile vanished almost instantly and he dropped the sparkler out the window. Wyatt bit his lip cursing himself as he watched the small glow on the road fade in the distance. He sighed heavily driving in silence.

He pointed ahead seeing a grove of trees and the side road veering past them. "There we go. That is what I'm talking about." He turned down the side road.

Chris clicked the flashlight on peering at the map again. "How far did he say this Westcliff place was?"

Wyatt shrugged. "He didn't."

Chris huffed frustrated. "I can't even find it on the freaking map."

Suddenly, the car lurched forward a bit. Chris dropped the flashlight and grabbed at the door handle. "What was that?" he asked quickly.

"I don't know," Wyatt said. "Did we hit something?"

Chris twisted around peering out the back. There was nothing on the road for them to have hit. "I don't see anything."

The car lurched again causing Chris to grip the door tighter and swore. The engine skipped.

"What the hell?" Wyatt said rhetorically.

The engine continued to skip, gradually slowing until it died. Wyatt pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road. He pinched his nose, leaning his forehead against the steering wheel. "Son of a bitch," he breathed.

He twisted the ignition getting nothing more than the engine turning over and over without starting. He clenched his jaw smacking the wheel with his hands. "Son of a bitch! So much for being able to keep driving it." He tried again with no luck.

Chris pulled out his cell phone, glancing at his brother warily. He held it up looking for a signal. The phone searched for a moment, then declared the area service free.

"Nothing," he said quietly.

Wyatt turned the key again only getting the same sickening groan. "Damnit!"

"Can't a car run without a fan?" Chris asked.

"Evidently not," muttered Wyatt. He hit the steering wheel again, snatched his travel mug, and climbed out the car popping the hood. He peered at the engine having not the slightest clue what he was doing and poked around a bit. He sighed. "Try it again," he shouted to Chris.

Chris shook his head. "It's not going to work."

_Thank you, Chris, for your outstanding optimism_. Wyatt tapped at the engine with his travel mug. "How do you know? Jeez, just try it."

Chris leaned over and turned the key. Wyatt pounded all over the engine with the handle of the travel mug. This was the American way; when in doubt, hit it. If that didn't work, hit it harder. The engine whirred over and over but didn't start. Wyatt slammed the mug down swearing loudly when it shattered. He kicked the ground, wincing when his foot hit a rock and heaved the remains of the mug into the bushes. He looked up and down the road, staring into the impenetrable darkness in either direction.

"How far back was that station?" he asked.

Chris shrugged looking faintly annoyed. "You're asking me to judge distance? I don't know. Five maybe six miles. Too far to walk in the middle of the night."

Wyatt bit his lip. "That means we sit here the rest of the night and hope some idiots like us happen to drive down this stagecoach trail.

"Idiots like you," Chris retorted, "Not us. I didn't get us lost."

"No," Wyatt said. "You slept through five states thanks to your Prozac/Zoloft cocktail." He shoved the hood down resisting the urge to scream loudly. He settled for glowering at the pavement, hands on his hips as he slowly counted backwards from a hundred. Chris didn't say anything the entire time, something Wyatt was infinitely grateful for. He didn't think he could handle any of Chris's snarky comments at the moment.

He sighed rubbing his eyes. Squinting, he cocked his head to the side catching sight of the edge of a piece of wood. He walked a few yards away pulling the fallen sign from the tall grass. The faded, bold print letters read, _Prairie View Motel. One Mile Ahead_. Wyatt smiled and held the sign up towards the car. "You feel like walking a mile?" he asked.

Chris got out of the car leaning against the door. He sighed, the puff of air fluttering his bangs slightly. "You want to trust a rotting, wooden, _hand painted_ sign that was _laying_ on the side of the road to really be correct in that there is a motel a mile up this _deserted_ road?"

Wyatt dropped the sign back into the grass. "Come on Chris. What other choice do we have?"

Chris pursed his lips but nodded. "Fine." He reached in the car, grabbing the few things he thought they would need and walked to meet his brother.

* * *

><p>They walked in silence for almost half an hour before Chris suddenly halted. Wyatt turned back raising an eyebrow. Chris just looked at him a moment, swallowing and seeming to burrow deeper into the hoodie he was wearing.<p>

"I think that sign lied," Chris said dully. "This is a lot further than one mile."

Wyatt sighed and nodded. "Yeah but we're already walking. Might as well keep going."

He started walking again slowing when he didn't hear Chris following him. He looked over his shoulder to see Chris take a deep breath and start walking. Wyatt frowned in concern noticing the slight limp and the fine tremors shaking Chris's form.

"Hey, you okay?"

Chris shrugged catching up to him. "I'm fine."

Wyatt reached out taking hold of Chris's arm. "No you're not. Is it your leg?"

"My leg's fine," Chris said averting his gaze from Wyatt.

Wyatt rolled his eyes shaking his head. "All right. Come here. I'll give you a piggy-back ride."

Chris yanked his arm back looking scandalized. "No. I do not need to be carried like a kid. I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own. Thank you."

"Chris," Wyatt said sternly, grabbing his brother's arm to pull him back. "No you're not. The doctors said not to strain your knee. That includes strenuous walking. We're in the middle of a deserted road. Can't walk back, can't walk forward. Now please, I can see that you are in pain, so please, _please_, let me carry you."

Chris scowled biting his lip. He looked up and down the road then back to Wyatt. "Fine," he said adjusting the backpack he was carrying.

Wyatt nodded. "Thank you."

He stooped down a little letting Chris clamber on his back. He hooked his arms under Chris's knees, hoisting him up slightly too comfortably settle his weight. Chris wrapped his arms around Wyatt's neck resting his forehead against Wyatt's shoulder. Once he was settled, Wyatt started walking again.

Chris was silent as he rested and Wyatt cast a glance at the sky wondering just how far the motel actually was or even if it existed. The dark expanse of the sky above them was filled with billions of sparkling stars. Wyatt whistled lowly.

"Wow. We never see the stars in San Francisco. It's actually kinda nice out here really. Mel would have loved it," he said.

Chris tensed. "Really?" he muttered into Wyatt's shirt. "Kinda weird coming from you. You were always the one who bitched about leaving the city. That's why we never went anywhere like this."

Wyatt sighed. "Why do you do that?"

"What?"

"Every time I mention one of their names, you have a go at me," Wyatt said.

Chris shrugged. "Stop mentioning their names then."

"I'm not like you, Chris. I don't want to forget them so the pain goes away."

"Well then, aren't you the brave one, Wyatt." Chris pushed against Wyatt's back. "Put me down."

Wyatt shook his head tightening his hold. "No. You need to rest your knee. And maybe you'd be happier if you tried talking about it, instead of acting like it never happened. Like they never existed."

"Wyatt," Chris said warningly. "Shut the hell up."

"Chris, all I'm saying—"

He felt Chris shake his head. "No. All _I'm_ saying is if you don't shut the hell up…" he trailed off unsure as to how to finish it, but Wyatt nodded anyway.

"Okay," he paused, "How's your knee? Be honest."

Chris sighed. "Been better."

* * *

><p><em>Wyatt ran up to the receptionist nearly out of breath and trying to gasp out his name. He gripped the edge of the counter soundlessly mouthing his name while taking in long drags of air. <em>

_The young black lady behind the counter raised a questioning eyebrow. "Can I help you, sir?" _

_Wyatt nodded frantically. "My family. Halliwell. Piper, Leo, Chris, and Melinda Halliwell. They were brought here?"_

_The woman poked at her keyboard looking at her screen. "Mhum. What is your relation?"_

"_Son and brother," Wyatt said quickly. _

"_Third floor. Take that elevator and go left. Talk to the receptionist there and she'll direct you to the appropriate waiting room," she said pointing to the elevator._

_Wyatt took off across the room punching furiously at the call button. He waited impatiently hitting floor three and pounding the button to close the doors. The ride up seemed endless and he squeezed out the doors before they were even fully open nearly knocking over a man with a coffee cup. He rattled off his name again to the older lady behind the counter. She checked his name and his family's names before sympathetic look adorned her countenance, and she directed him to the waiting area informing him the doctor would come speak to him as soon as he was able. _

_Wyatt collapsed in a chair, unaware of how uncomfortable it was. The waiting was agonizing, the pain and worry increasing with every hour, minute, and second that slipped by. He called Phoebe and Paige, aware neither would be able to make it into the city for at least two days. He paced around the waiting area like a caged cat, at times catching the concerned expression of the receptionist that worried him even more. _

_He didn't know when he dozed off in those completely uncomfortable chairs; he only knew that he was awakened by the tired voice calling his father's name. _

"_Mr. Halliwell? Mr. Halliwell?"_

_Wyatt blinked, realizing the voice wasn't calling his dad, but him rather. He jerked awake taking in the sight of the doctor before him. _

"_Doctor!" He scrambled out of his seat, fixing his stare on the middle age man before him. _

_The doctor sighed. "Mr. Halliwell, I'm Doctor Sorian. I have some news for you."_

"_What? Are they okay? How bad are they hurt? Are—"_

"_Mr. Halliwell, you might want to sit down."_

_Wyatt snapped his mouth shut and dropped back into his chair, the involuntary action completed before he'd even registered it. When a doctor told you to sit down…_

_Doctor Sorian took the seat next to him. "Now I need you to listen carefully. Are you fully aware of what happened?"_

_Wyatt shook his head. "Car crash." That was about the extent of his knowledge. _

_The doctor nodded. "Yes. A loaded Semi truck collided with the side of your parents car at an intersection."_

_Wyatt swallowed heavily a lead feeling settling in his stomach. _

"_Your sister, Melinda, was killed on impact—"_

_Wyatt choked, covering his mouth with his hand trying to hold in his sobs. The doctor's voice changed, he seemed almost reluctant to keep talking and spoke softly laying a reassuring hand on Wyatt's shoulder. _

"_Your mother, father, and brother were taken by ambulance. Your father died en route. Your mother and brother were brought here and taken to the OR. At one fifteen this morning your mother passed away. Your brother is stable now in the ICU. If there are no complications I feel confident he will survive."_

_Wyatt looked up. "Chris is alive?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Can I see him?"_

"_I'll take you to him myself."_

* * *

><p>They walked in silence the rest of the way, another good fifteen minutes of walking, before a small, rundown, roadside motel came into view. Wyatt set Chris down gently, and they both stared at the sight before them. Eight rooms stretched out in an L-shape, all badly in need of a paint job. A primer painted pickup truck sat outside the office under a "$19.00 A Night" sign that hung over the office screen door. Above that was a crooked "Vacancy" sign. Neither boy made any move towards the office.<p>

"We could go back to the car," Chris said at length. "We can sleep on the hood and stare up at those stars you love so much."

Wyatt shook his head. "Maybe they'll have a phone we can use."

"Yeah," Chris muttered as they started toward the motel office. "Bet it's Alexander Graham Bell's first model too."

A bell above the screen door jingled as they entered. The small wood-paneled room had several security video monitors on the walls behind the desk. The image of Chris and Wyatt entering the office filled the screen. Chris shifted looking uncomfortable.

Around the room a few stock scenery pictures hung on the walls and a disturbing stuffed jack-a-lope, a rabbit with glued-on antlers, rested on the counter. At the rabbit's feet was a desk bell with a sign saying "Ring Me."

Chris jumped as sudden screams erupted from the back room behind the counter. He stared at Wyatt wide-eyed clearly communicating his want to leave and taking a step towards the door. Wyatt shook his head, gesturing for him to wait and rung the bell.

There was some rustling, and then a middle age man appeared from the back room. He was short, but still taller than Chris, maybe five-ten, and a little heavy set, dressed in a sweaty t-shirt and jeans. He had a pinched face, framed with thick, dark rimmed glasses, and fly-away hair that gave him a distinct advantage with the creepy factor.

"Hey, folks. Name's Mason. What can I do ya for?"

Wyatt bit his lip. "Uh, everything okay back there?" he asked, addressing the continuing screams. Mason cocked his head. Wyatt waved his hand to the back room.

"Oh." Mason disappeared back into the room a moment and the screams cut off abruptly. He came back holding up a television remote as an explanation. "Sorry about that. Gets a little boring around here late at night."

"I bet so," Wyatt replied. "Listen, our car broke down about a mile or so back. I just need to borrow a phone. See if we could get a tow truck or something."

"All we've got is that there pay phone outside," Mason said inclining his head towards the small booth visible out the window. "She works on dimes if you need 'em."

Wyatt dug a dollar from his pocket. Mason took it and traded it in for a cluster of dimes from his drawer. Wyatt nodded his thanks motioning for Chris to leave before him.

"Trouble is the only garage within ninety miles is Small's. Little place on Route Six," Mason said.

Chris frowned. "Yeah. We stopped there earlier."

"And Small's don't have a phone," Mason continued.

Wyatt stared at Mason a beat, then down to the handful of dimes. "So I probably don't need these then."

Mason smiled. "Not if you need a tow truck."

Wyatt threw a glance at Chris before filling his pocket with the dimes.

"But I could run you back there in the morning if you want. Too late to do much right now no-ways," Mason offered.

Chris looked at his watch and shrugged. "It's just a few hours I guess."

Wyatt shrugged. "Yeah, okay. Guess we'll need one of those nineteen dollar rooms then."

Mason nodded then studied them closely, looking them over and grinned. Chris unconsciously drew nearer to Wyatt.

"I can give you two the Honeymoon Suite for twenty-four. Go a few extras that the others don't," he said raising an eyebrow suggestively.

Wyatt looked shocked glancing quickly at Chris, who looked slightly disgusted, then back a Mason. "Oh. Oh! Oh no. Chris and I…we're just brothers. We're not—"

"Relax sir," Mason said. "Here at Prairie View Motel we don't discriminate based on race, gender, or sexual orientation."

Wyatt gave him a strained smile. "You know, it's late. A regular room will do."

Mason pulled a key from the hook behind him and slid it across the counter. "What the hell. I'll give it to you for the same rate."

Wyatt jerked out his credit card. "Okay, whatever. Thanks."

"'Fraid we're not set up for plastic. Cash only," Mason said.

Wyatt sighed. "Do you take dimes?"

Mason grinned, not getting the joke. Wyatt sighed, snapped a twenty from his wallet and reached for the key. Mason pulled the key back.

"And I need one of your ID's. Sort of a deposit on the contents of the room."

Wyatt clenched his jaw on the verge of being fed up with the guy. "Trust me, we're not going to take anything. I'm not up to carrying dirty towels a mile down the road."

Mason nodded. "I'm sure you won't. But rules is rules. I don't make 'em. I'm just the manager."

Wyatt huffed. It was way too late for this crap. He pulled out his driver's license and traded it to Mason for the key.

"It's the last one on the end there. Number eight. Might have to jiggle the handle a bit to open her up. She's as sticky as an old whore," he turned to Chris nodding his head. "Excuse my language."

Chris just turned, looking faintly sickened, and started moving for the door pushing through before Wyatt even started to follow. The blonde thanked the manager and made to leave.

"You have a good night now," Mason said. "And might I add a congratulation on your luck, Mr. Halliwell. He's quite a pretty thing."

Wyatt swallowed and just nodded, all but darting through the door after his brother. He jogged, catching up to Chris. The brunette glanced at him and back to the office.

"Grade A creep, if you ask me," he muttered. Wyatt could only nod in agreement.

* * *

><p><strong>All right and there's the start. I'll update again sometime next week Adios.<strong>

**AN: The italics...yeah in case you missed it...they're flashbacks. Just so everyone's on the same page. **

**To Review or To Not Review...the age old question. **


	2. Chapter 2

**As promised...here is Chapter 2. Starting to delve into the meat of the story now.**

**I won't take all your time up here 'cause I'm sure you don't come here to read my ANs. **

**Disclaimer: See chapter 1. I'm not typing that every chapter. I'll do the abridged version: I don't own Charmed. I don't own Vacancy. **

**No beta. Blame me. Please enjoy. **

**oh warnings?: Bit of violence...some language. Wyatt's tired and Chris is...well Chris. *shrugs* **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

The room was dark, holding a permeating air of foreboding. Chris flipped the light switch freezing with Wyatt in the doorway. The room was, for lack of a better description, scarily abandoned and all but destroyed. It looked like it needed to be condemned. Scratch that. The whole motel needed to be condemned. The carpet was a stained shag. Torn farm animal print curtains framed the dirty windows. Cigarette holes were burned into the paisley bedspread draped across the single bed, and ugly artificial plants hung in the corners of the room.

Wyatt raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Good thing we upgraded it."

Chris shot him an acidic look walking in and gingerly tossing his bag on the bed. Wyatt sighed and closed the door. He locked it and hooked the chain across feeling only mildly protected by it. The door would probably fall off its hinges if it was bumped the wrong way

"There's only one bed," Chris remarked absently.

Wyatt shrugged. "So? We've shared before. We can share again."

Chris crossed the room to the small bathroom and hit the light illuminating the broken tile floor, rusty faucets and water-stained commode. He frowned looking at Wyatt. "We've had our tetanus shots, right?" he asked absently.

Wyatt sighed watching Chris dig through his bag and pull a bottle of pills out. He shook a couple into his hand dropping the bottle back into the bag. He twisted the knob on the faucet in the bathroom, jumping back with a curse when brown water splashed out, gushing several roaches out with it. Chris turned the water off, watching the bugs slither down the drain. He shivered in disgust and simply dry gulped the pills down.

Wyatt mindlessly picked up the tv guide wondering if there would be anything worth watching at this ridiculous time. His eyes widened as he saw the date. Turning around he held up a tattered old book to Chris. "If you want to know what shows were on during March of '97, I've got the answer." He tossed the very outdated magazine back on the table.

Chris scoffed at him. "Good to know. I'll call you when I invent a time machine." He moved back to the bed pulling at the covers and inspecting the sheets. "God. I'm sleeping in all my clothes," he said.

Wyatt glanced over his shoulder allowing a half grin. "I'm sleeping in my shoes."

He looked around the room opening the closet door. It was empty. He shut it turning back to Chris. "Could be worse I guess. We could be jammed into that twin bed you and I had to share when we stayed at Phoebe's after…" he trailed off wincing, but Chris just looked at him.

Chris slid onto the bed, propped himself against the wall, shifting and not getting too comfortable.

"We should have told Paige," he muttered abruptly.

Wyatt sighed knowing exactly what he was talking about. "Why ruin her party. We can tell her after all the paperwork is taken care of." He sat on the bed beside Chris and stared at the farm print curtains. "You really want to go through with it?"

Chris bit his lip looking away. He was silent, then, "Yes."

Wyatt nodded slowly remaining quiet for a long beat. "Sorry about this. Should've stayed on the interstate."

"Our one last great adventure together," Chris said no trace of humor in his voice.

"Did we ever have great adventures? I can't remember sometimes, but I guess we did." Wyatt said wistfully, reclining fully against the headboard.

Chris didn't answer right away, simply pulling his coat tighter around himself. "There had to be at least a couple."

"Only a couple? We were brothers for nigh on sixteen years before, you know? You telling me there's nothing good you remember?" Wyatt asked.

"Yes."

Wyatt shook his head. "You really just want to quit? Just ditch me and move in with Darrel and Shelia?"

Chris leaned forward kneading his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I'm not…I'm not ditching you. I just can't keep doing what I'm doing. I can't keep living in that house—"

"Then we'll move," Wyatt said.

"Wyatt, I can't."

"Why not?"

Chris squeezed his eyes shut. "It hurts too much. I'm sorry."

"You can't just stop feeling because it hurts, Chris. It doesn't work that way," Wyatt said.

Chris opened his mouth to reply but stopped at a loud knock on the front door. Wyatt threw a ticked off glance at it before looking at his watch. Whoever it was had impeccable timing.

"Who the hell is that?" he said moving to open the door. No one was outside. He stepped out searching the shadows. Nobody.

"Hello?" he called. There was no answer. Wyatt closed the door, and looked at Chris questioningly. Maybe those trucker pills were getting to him.

"You heard that, right?" he asked Chris.

Chris nodded.

Another knock sounded from the door to the adjoining room. Wyatt moved to the side door. "Yeah?"

He was answered with more knocks. Tossing a glance at Chris, he shrugged then reached to unbolt the lock.

"Wyatt, wait," Chris said.

Wyatt looked at him. "It's the room beside us."

"I know, Captain Obvious. Just hang on a—"

Wyatt turned the bolt swinging the door open to reveal another door behind it. The other room's door with no handle for Wyatt to grab. The knocking continued. Wyatt ground his teeth and pounded back against their side of the partition.

"What do you need?" he shouted. The knocking stopped. "Hello?"

He turned to Chris giving him an incredulous look. "Were there any cars when we walked over?"

Chris went to the window squinting outside. "There's just a truck. Probably Grade A Creep's."

Wyatt nodded turning his attention back to the door. He tapped on it. "Whoever's in there, it's too late for this shit," he called.

The other room's door began to shake like whoever was on the other side was jerking hard on the handle.

"What the hell is this?" Wyatt said.

Chris came a bit closer to Wyatt looking at the door with wide eyes. "Close the door, Wyatt." Wyatt just watched the door vibrate. He heard Chris tell him to close the door, but he wanted to know what the freak on the other side wanted.

"Wyatt! Close the door!" Chris pushed past him and slammed their door closed. He bolted it back to secure it and retreated back to the middle of the room. "Come on, jeeze. Why mess with them?"

Wyatt shook his head. "I'm not messing with them. I just want to know what they're doing."

He and Chris spun around at loud knocks on the front door again. They exchanged a glance, then Wyatt went to the door.

"Who is it?"

There was no answer. Wyatt secured the chain across the door, then eased it open and peered out through the crack. Chris watched him, an apprehensive look overtaking his features. A pounding erupted from the side door, and he jumped backing further into the room. Wyatt beat against the wall with his fist.

"What's your problem, asshole!" he yelled. The knocking just got louder. Wyatt huffed. "Screw this. Is there a phone in here?"

Chris scanned the room with Wyatt looking for a phone. There wasn't one. Wyatt pushed back a desk swearing when he saw the empty phone jack. Chris looked over his shoulder scowling.

"Perfect," he said wryly. Wyatt headed to the front door. "Wyatt, wait."

Wyatt ignored him stomping outside too angry to wait despite Chris's pleading tone. He went to the adjacent door, room number seven. He banged on the door.

"Open the door!" There was no answer and beat on it again. His mind churned, mulling over the possibilities of what this freak wanted. He was tired, he was a touch upset, he was not in the mood to play games. He was in a mood to finish them. "Come on! You want to play games, let's play!"

He jerked on the handle finding it locked and knocked again. This time a knocking answered him. Just like it was in the room, a slow, steady knocking. Wyatt peered in the dark window. Shadows cloaked the room making it impossible to see who was behind the door. He turned to Chris in the doorway who was watching him anxiously, pale face pinched in concern. Wyatt frowned pointing at him.

"Lock the door," he said.

Chris looked surprised. "Where're you going?" he asked tensely.

"To shut this prick up. Lock the door." He waited until Chris closed the door hearing the rattle of the chain before he started across the lot to the motel office. Once inside he irritably smacked the bell between the Jack-a-lope's feet over and over. Mason leaned out of the back room.

"Everything all right, Mr. Halliwell?"

Wyatt grit his teeth. Tonight the man upstairs seemed intent on testing his patience to the limits. "No. The asshole in the room beside us keeps banging on the walls. He won't stop."

"Beside you?" Mason asked looking genuinely confused.

"Yeah," Wyatt said placing his hands on the counter. "Room seven. I went over to talk to him, but he just kept doing it. I don't know what his problem is."

Mason frowned. "Well that's strange." He turned to the rack of keys hanging behind the counter. The key for the room number seven was still there. "You're the only guests we got tonight."

Wyatt huffed. "Well somebody's in there."

"You're sure it was number seven?" Mason asked evenly pulling out his book.

Wyatt glared at him. Grade A Creep all the way, like Chris said, but with and extra helping of incredible annoying-ness on the side. "We're the last one and we're eight, right? It's right beside us, with a big, rusty seven on the door, so I'm pretty sure, yeah."

Mason nodded motioning in a placating gesture. "Okay, I got ya. Every once in a blue moon some drifter or college kids'll crawl through a window for a night's sleep. Cleanin' lady'll find some trash layin' around…shit in the toilet. Don't usually cause no disturbance through."

"Well this one is," Wyatt grouched.

Mason seemed to consider it a moment, then grabbed the key. "I'll check her out for ya."

Wyatt nodded. He glanced up noticing a pair of pistols on display above the door to the back room. "If those are real, you might want to think about bringing one."

Mason contemplated it then stretched up to pull one down. He grinned and twirled it like a gunfighter. "I'm ass-tired of just shootin' at crows."

Wyatt just stared, a little unnerved but shrugged it off. "Yeah. Well good hunting."

"Thanks, Mr. Halliwell," Mason said as Wyatt walked out.

Wyatt saw Chris peering out between the curtains of the room. He waved attempting to let Chris know it was taken care of. Chris's face left the window and the door opened letting Wyatt enter.

"What'd he say?" Chris asked.

Wyatt shut and locked the door. "Thinks it's just some drunk. He's going to take care of it. Did you hear anything else?"

Chris shook his head looking at the doors. He sat on the middle of the bed pulling his knees up to his chest. "No. I was almost wishing I would, so I'd know where they were."

Wyatt collapsed on the bed leaning on the headboard. "Probably saw me heading for the office and took off," he shifted trying to get comfortable and gestured around the room, "Now we can enjoy this luxury resort with some peace and quiet."

Chris turned around to face him chewing on his bottom lip. "Maybe we should just leave. Go back to the car."

"I'm not walking anymore. Let's just gut it out for a few hours and catch a ride back. We'll get the car fixed and get the hell out of here, okay?"

Chris looked like he was going to argue, his face still drawn tight, but he just shrugged and shuffled back to sit next to Wyatt. Wyatt grabbed the remote of the bedside table.

"You're not going to watch that now?" Chris asked frowning.

"Just for a little while. Until we know our friend's gone from over there. Besides, gotta take advantage of the Honeymoon Suite perk. Worth at least an extra five bucks," Wyatt said flipping through the channels. They all seemed to be nothing more than static. He sighed, "Then again, maybe not."

Chris fidgeted, tugging at the cuffs of his coat. "The manager guy…he's going over there for sure, right?"

Wyatt leaned his head on the wall, rolling his neck to look at Chris. His brother was nervous, that he could tell. And a nervous Chris did not bode well. "With his six-shooter," he reassured. "He'll take care of it. Gotta keep his only two guests happy."

He sat up taking note of the VCR with several video tapes stacked on top of it. "Talk about outdated," he said grabbing a tape. There was no label. "Bet this is a library of classics." He slipped the tape into the VCR. The onscreen static disappeared, replaced by footage from a no-budget slasher film. Grainy picture and hollow sound to the max.

Three men, stripped down to their underwear, were in a small room tied on the floor. Two shadowy figures were standing over the men. The three men were moaning, begging the figures. Suddenly one of the figures raised a knife.

Wyatt grimaced as one of the men screamed. "Jeez. Perfect movie to put newlyweds in the mood."

"Turn it off. I hate those kinds of movies. And that's the last thing I need right now," Chris said. After what happened, Chris didn't like anything that dealt with death.

Wyatt popped the tape out and replaced it with another. "They should at least give you a little porn. God." He heard Chris scoff behind him muttering:

"Yeah, 'cause that's what I want to watch with my big brother in a creepy ass motel. Porn."

The screen flashed on again. This time there were three college age girls huddled on a bed. It was the same small room, and the camera angle was just as the last, looking down on the girls as they trembled and cried. One of the girls screamed out, _"Please!"_

And a figure stepped into the frame. The girls started flailing at him. Another figure stepped into the picture. One of the figures drug a girl to the floor and started tearing at her clothes.

"God," Chris snapped. "Could you at least mute it or something so I don't have to hear it."

Wyatt barely heard him staring at the room on the tv screen. It looked familiar. It unnerved him. The curtains in the movie were a terrible farm animal print. He slowly looked at the curtains in the motel room. Terrible farm animal print. Wyatt felt his heart speed up as he turned back to the screen watching as the attacker raised his blade of the girl lying on the gold shag carpet. Wyatt's gaze dropped straight to his feet staring at the reddish stain on the gold shag carpet.

"Shit."

"I told you to turn it off," Chris repeated. Wyatt turned glancing around the room. Chris looked at him, his anxious expression from earlier returning immediately. "What?"

Wyatt turned back to the tv as the girl's screams burst from it. This kind of thing did not happen in real life. This kind of thing did not happen to him and Chris.

"Wyatt?"

"Look at that room. In the movie," Wyatt said watching Chris now. Chris frowned but stared at the screen watching a figure throw one of the girls on the bed.

"What about—" Chris's gazed dropped to the bed he was sitting on then back to the screen. The girl on the tv was trying to escape one of the figures. She crawled off the bed knocking over the cactus shaped lamp. It tumbled onto the bed.

Chris glanced beside him to the cactus shaped lamp. Wyatt saw the blood drain from his face, skin going even paler than before. He scramble up from the bed. "What movie is that?"

Wyatt shook his head. "I don't know." He eyed one of the hanging plants grabbing a chair and sliding it over. He stood up on the chair and pulled the dusty plant back. There was a video camera aimed right at him, red light blinking.

The girls kept screaming from the television.

Wyatt was frozen, just staring back at the camera. He took a deep breath, hearing a choked gasp from Chris, and stumbled off the chair.

"Wyatt."

Wyatt didn't answer still staring at the camera. Chris glanced at the camera then pointed at the tv. "Is that this room?" Chris asked sounding faintly frightened.

Wyatt blinked breaking out of his reverie. "It looks like it," he said. He walked across the room reaching up and checking the other hanging plant. Another camera with a blinking light greeted him.

"This is some kind of joke, right?" Chris said.

Wyatt bit his lip. "I don't know."

They turned backed to the tv where one of the figures swung the knife toward one of the girls. Chris took a step back, almost as if he was afraid the figure was going to come right out of the screen at them.

Chris shook his head. "No…they can't really be killing those girls. That can't be real." He ejected the tape feverishly shoving in another. The screen filled with the same room, _their _room. It was empty until the door swung open, and an old couple charged through the door and slammed it closed.

The old woman was crying and the old man looked around in a panic. They held each other and stared at the door. As they did, one of the same figures stepped out of the bathroom door behind them. They didn't see him.

"Turn around," Chris whispered.

The figure eased up behind the couple.

"Turn around!"

The figure raised a knife.

Chris spun away from the tv, covering his ears with his hands and squeezing his eyes closed. As the attacker swung the knife down, the tv went blank and the room fell into total darkness.

"What just happened?" Chris whispered.

Wyatt fumbled through the dark, flipping the light switch. It didn't work. "Power's been turned off," he said.

The soft knocking at the wall returned.

"Wyatt?"

"It's okay," Wyatt said. He reached out to Chris, only mildly surprised when the younger boy didn't pull away.

The knocking got louder at the door and the handle started to shake.

Wyatt and Chris froze, not even breathing. Wyatt put his finger over his lips and the room nearly drowned in silence.

And then the power flashed back on. The room lit up, the television flickering back on and the old couple screamed. Chris jumped looking from the tv to the door. Wyatt tugged him back from the door eyeing the door handle, chain, and hinges. The couple kept screaming, and Chris suddenly spun around waiting for the figure to be behind them. No one was there.

The power went out again.

Wyatt grabbed the cactus lamp off the table, ready to swing it and pulled Chris with him back against the wall, sliding down to the floor.

The thumping on the adjoining door began again, the lights starting to flash on and off, repeating like a strobe light. Each time the tv regained life, snippets of screams ruptured from the speakers.

The pounding grew louder, the shakes on the door handle harder, the flashes of light and screams faster. Chris gripped Wyatt's arm harshly, his slim fingers digging into muscle, and buried his face in Wyatt's shoulder. His quick, near irregular breathing adding to the cacophony barraging Wyatt's ears.

Everything fell silent suddenly, even Chris's breathing. The lights turned on, the thumping stopped, and the door handle quit moving. Wyatt looked at Chris gently prying his fingers off his arm. He ran a comforting hand through Chris's hair then placed the lamp back on the table and scrambled over to the tv to turn it off.

Chris stood up shakily moving to his bag and digging through it frantically. "I'm calling the police." He pulled out his cell phone flipping it open and throwing it back in the bag. "Shit," he said. He ran his hands through his hair pulling at the strands. "No signal. I forgot. No signal. Shit. Shit."

"We have to get out of here," Wyatt stated. Chris started for the door, but Wyatt grabbed his arm shaking his head. "Whoever was out there had to hear the tv. That means they know we watched it."

Chris stared at him. "That asshole put us in here to watch it. He wasn't going to help us, Wyatt. He's part of this."

"So they know we watched it, and now they know we're going to run. They'll be waiting."

Chris swallowed. "Maybe he won't know that we caught on, that we recognized anything."

Wyatt turned and stared at the camera. The red light was blinking steadily, watching them.

"He knows," he said.

"So what then? We sit here like chickens for slaughter?" Chris asked.

Wyatt motioned for Chris to stay still and quiet and leaned into the bathroom seeing a small window in the back wall. He gestured to Chris showing him the window. "We climb out that way."

Wyatt hurried to the window turning the handle, but it didn't budge. He pulled on the crank and it started to turn but stopped. Wyatt looked at it confused before noticing the nails hammered into the windowsill holding it shut.

"Son of a bitch," he breathed. He banged against the window trying to jar it free.

"Wyatt," Chris said, "Somebody's going to hear you."

"So what do we do then?" he snapped.

Chris looked around. "We…we go out the door, and we run. Make it back to that gas station—"

"The one without the phone? You think they're just going to let us stroll out of here, so we can go tell the police what we found?"

"Of course not. They're not going to let us _stroll_ out of here. Buth they're not going to just let us sit here either, Wyatt," Chris said.

Wyatt made another desperate attempt at the window with no luck. "Shit." Wyatt hurried out of the bathroom. Chris started after him but stopped.

"Wyatt."

The blonde turned noticing a change in Chris's tone. He turned around fully, stopping his search for a way out. Chris was standing in the bathroom doorway holding something in his hands.

"Did you bring this?" he asked holding up a half eaten apple.

"What?" Wyatt asked confused. He looked closer at the apple realizing what he'd taken to be bites were actually slices cut neatly out of it. That couldn't be…

"Did you get this when we left the car?"

Wyatt shook his head. "No. What are you talking about?"

Chris pointed in the bathroom. "It was in there. On the sink. I didn't bring it either."

"You had to. You probably stuck it in your bag and forgot all about it."

"No," Chris said, "I bled all over it, remember. Then I threw it in the bag. There's no way I brought it with me. I left it in the bag that I left in the car, Wyatt."

Wyatt nodded then gestured to the bag on the bed. "You're entirely sure you didn't put it in that bag?"

"Yes. And even if I had, I did not put it on the counter in the bathroom," Chris said. He sucked in a harsh breath. "What's happening?"

Wyatt stared long and hard at Chris. He didn't look good, his face too pale and draw, the fringe of his bangs damp with sweat even as he shivered in his coat. Wyatt tugged the apple from his fingers, slightly concerned at how clammy they felt. He tossed the apple in the garbage then pushed Chris down until he was sitting on the floor. "Just breathe, Chris. You just sit here and breathe. I'm going to figure this out and we'll be okay." Chris nodded pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

Wyatt walked into the bathroom cautiously. He glanced around the room, eyes landing on the tub with the shower curtain extended, hiding whatever might behind it. Wyatt grabbed one of the dirty glasses from the sink, gripping it like a baseball. He jerked the shower curtain open. The rod fell free from the wall and crashed down. The tub was empty. He searched the bathroom some jumping when Chris spoke.

"How'd it get in here?" Chris asked quietly.

Wyatt glanced behind seeing Chris standing timidly in the doorway. He bit his lip. "I don't know," he said gently moving past Chris back into the main room. "Turn off the lights."

Chris complied flipping the lights off the room going dark. "What are we doing?"

"We're leaving," Wyatt said moving over to the curtains. "As soon as we get outside, we run to the trees, okay? Get out of the open where they can't see us. And we've got to move fast, Chris."

Chris nodded, looking slightly more composed now that he had a plan to act on. "Try to keep up," he whispered.

Wyatt let out a small chuckle knowing the comment was meant to lighten the mood but was true nonetheless. Chris was faster than he was, at least for short distances…well he used to be. "How's your knee?" he asked. "You gonna be okay running?"

Chris nodded again. "I'll be fine, Wyatt."

Wyatt peered out through the farm animal curtains again. The moonlight shined over the empty gravel lot. "I don't see anybody." He moved to the door, removed the chain, and slowly opened the door. He peered outside still seeing no one. He reached his hand out to Chris thankful when Chris took it without a word. Wyatt and Chris eased out the door together pressing their backs against the wall of the motel to stay tucked in the shadows. Wyatt pointed across the road toward a thick forest of trees.

"Over there. You ready?" he whispered.

Chris nodded biting his lip. They took one last glance around still seeing no one and started sprinting across the lot.

They raced across the road, down a grassy slope charging toward the dark safety of the trees. Chris surprised Wyatt by nearly dragging him along. He hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said try to keep up.

Chris yanked back suddenly and it took Wyatt a second to see what had made him stop. A man, a shadow with eyes, had appeared from the trees. They squinted toward the man as he moved up from the trees.

Wyatt looked around taking stock of where they could go. "Come on. This way," he said tugging Chris back toward the road. As they ran another man stepped from the shadows blocking their escape. "Shit."

They spun back the other direction, but the first man cut them off, striding down the center of the road to them.

"Wyatt."

"Yeah, yeah. I see 'em." He slid to a stop. "Get away from us!"

But the men just kept closing in methodically, tightening in around them. Wyatt looked around searchingly mentally swearing. There was nowhere to go but back to the motel.

"Come on!" he shouted pulling Chris back across the road and toward their room. He glanced over his shoulder letting Chris lead him a moment. The men were moving calmly after them, converging, following.

Chris practically drug him faster reaching the door. Wyatt grabbed the handle and pushed. The door didn't move. Wyatt shoved at the door.

"Open it, Wyatt!"

"I'm trying!" Wyatt yelled. He pushed at the door frantically.

"Shake it!" Chris ordered. "The creep said to shake it."

Wyatt all but shook the handle off the door, but it didn't open. Chris shoved him sideways jerking up and to the right on the handle and smacking his palm underneath. Finally, it flew open. Wyatt and Chris poured into the room, and Wyatt slammed the door shut behind them, turning the bolt and pulling the chain back across.

He backed away from the door, Chris by his side. Heavy footsteps on gravel filtered through the door growing louder and closer. Wyatt and Chris stared at the door waiting and dreading. A soft clicking started at the door, like fingernails tapping at the wood. The clicking turned into clawing, long, slow scratches down the door. Then the door thumped like someone had pressed his weight against it.

Wyatt threw his body against the door, holding it secure. The thumping grew harder, and Wyatt began to jerk from the pounding.

"Get the window open. In the bathroom," he whispered.

Chris looked torn. "Wyatt?"

"I'll be right behind you. Don't turn on the light."

* * *

><p>Chris raced into the bathroom climbing onto the commode to reach the small window. He pulled at the handle cursing when it didn't budge. He jerked back, nearly falling, when the handle popped off its stem and dropped to the floor.<p>

"Shit," Chris whispered. He wiped his clammy palms on his coat closing his eyes and counting to ten in his head. Clambering off the commode, Chris ran his shaking hands along the floor searching for the handle. His fingers hit something cold and hard. Standing up he reached to slide it back on and dropped it again stumbling back and swallowing a scream at the face in the window. He leaned against the wall gasping for breath.

"Wyatt!" He darted out of the bathroom seeing Wyatt still pressed against the door. "They're out there."

"Where?"

Chris stared at his brother. "At the window," he whispered forcibly.

The door kept shaking from the beating it was taking outside.

"I've got a gun! Get away or I swear to God I'll kill you!" Wyatt shouted abruptly.

The thumping ceased immediately and the room fell silent. Wyatt stayed pressed against the door, and Chris met his surprised gazed equally shocked. There was no way that worked. Absolutely none.

As if the killers had read his thoughts, the pounding erupted again, like clubs beating against the door and windows.

Chris threw his hands over his ears backing into the corner. He leaned against the wall feeling his chest constrict, the act of drawing a simple breath becoming harder and harder. The pounding seemed amplified echoing through his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, curling in on himself.

"Leave us alone!" he screamed. "Just leave us alone! Leave us alone. Just go away. Go away."

"Chris!"

Strong hands grabbed his arms, shaking him. Chris kicked out then opened his eyes. The room was silent. Wyatt's concerned face filled his vision. Wyatt moved his hands up, cupping Chris's face.

"Come on, buddy, focus. That's it. Just focus."

"The room is quiet," Chris said staring at Wyatt's face. It was reassuring. He didn't want to see the room.

"Yeah," Wyatt nodded, licking his lips as he glanced over his shoulder at the door. "They stopped a moment ago."

"Why would they just leave?"

"They wouldn't," Wyatt said.

Chris swallowed. "How many of them are there?"

"At least two." Wyatt squeezed his shoulder offering him a very faint smile before moving to the door of the adjoining room. He pulled their door open and started shoving against the next door.

"Wait," Chris said. "They were in there."

Wyatt nodded and grunted as he shoved the door again. "Ahuh. And there's nothing stopping them from coming in after us if that's what they want. So we've got to find another way out of here."

He rammed his shoulder into it once more. It still didn't budge. He hurried into the bathroom then returned to the room. He walked back to the front window sliding the curtain open just a crack. He stared out the window a minute

Chris pushed himself up from the floor, leaning against the wall. He still felt shaky and silently cursed himself for it. He scrubbed at his face with his hands and tried to will them to stop trembling.

Wyatt pulled out the handful of dimes from his pocket looking at them thoughtfully. Chris felt his stomach flip as he realized what Wyatt was thinking.

"I need to get to that phone," Wyatt said softly.

"What?" Chris said. Yes, he'd thought it, but that meant it was a very stupid idea. Wyatt didn't have stupid ideas. That was his job. Wyatt was supposed to be smart.

"It's a real phone. It'll have to work."

Yes, that sounded like _very_ sound knowledge. The phone was probably as old as dirt and just as productive at making a call as dirt would be.

"You're not going to get to it, Wyatt. They're not going to let you."

Wyatt looked at him. "Okay, Chris, then we just sit here. End up like all of them," he said motioning to the television. "I saw somebody out back. Like they were watching the window. If we can keep their attention on that it might give me a chance to get to the phone."

Chris felt his stomach churn again. He didn't like where this was going. "How do we do that?" he forced himself to ask.

Wyatt gave Chris a look that immediately told him he wasn't going to like it.

* * *

><p><strong>Dun dun dun...<strong>

**Well that's it till next week...unless I'm...persuaded otherwise _(hint, hint)_**

**And now here is where I tell you I lied. I said there was going to be four chapters and an epilogue. When I read through it again (and edited) I ended up dividing it again. Now there's five chapters and an epilogue (which I expanded by over 400 words. It was rather short before) Anyway, point is: five chapters, one epilogue. I pretty sure I'm done meddling with it now. **

**So, up next...What's the big idea? Will the phone work? And what in the devil is going on? Stay 'tuned' to find out. **

**oh wait...Review Responses! I usually don't do these but I figured I'd give it a go: **

**wazup8523257: I've continued. Hope it holds your interest still. Thanks for the review!**

**myriad-souls: ****Glad you loved it. Here's more to read. And if you haven't seen the film, I highly recommend it. Thank you for reviewing!**

**SeanMatthews369****: Thanks for such a long review! I'm glad I'm able to keep Chris and Wyatt in character. I always have an easier time with Chris since he's closer to my personality, but it's good to know I'm succeeding with Wyatt too. And, yes, I do enjoy making Chris and Wyatt, especially Chris actually, suffer. Finally, I must say yes the motel is indeed very creepy and Mason...well lets just let you read that part. :)**

**Charmed Forever****: Lol. Thank you for your review _and _for putting me in my place. I had no right writing this when my other stories are waiting...but I must say this idea just freaking hi-jacked my thought train while I was watching the movie. I was just sitting there ejoying my movie and the next thing I knew *BAM* Idea! But, it's finished and no longer distracting me so it's back to The Other Side and Series of Unfortuante Events.  
>I hope this update was fast enough that you didn't die...and no, there won't be any pairings for either brother. This is strictly a brother bond fic. <strong>

**MaddyAbby:**** Thank you for reviewing! Here's the update. And, as I'm sure you know, Chris and Wyatt are my favorite duo as well. **

**Deathsoul74: ****Here you are...Not an exact week so hopefully you survived. Thank you for your kind comments and for your review! Hope you enjoy this chapter as well. **

***Okay for some reason _all_ you peoples' names won't stay underlined...well screw you fanfiction . net. I give up...for now. :) *glares* stupid website**

***This site is trying to kill me I swear. You have no idea the amount of pain it took to get this up...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Yeah, so here I am again….why so soon? Well I'm sure ya'll ain't complaining but I figured I'd be nice.**

**Same old same old. I don't own Charmed or Vacancy. No beta. My mistakes. Please enjoy. **

**BTW: Since two people have asked (which I bet means many more were wondering) This is a **_**Non-Magic**_** story. Yes, that means our boys are just humans. Mortal humans. Poor Chris and Wyatt *shakes head* **

**Review Responses: Yes I will keep doing these. And they're up here this time because I wanted to address two in particular immediately and decided to do them all at the same spot. **

_**Amira: **_**I'm glad you love it. And no, our boys don't have powers in this fic. That would negate the problem *smiles* Thank you for reviewing. **

_**Cergysoeur:**_** Thank you. And I'm pretty sure… *checks chapter one of Void*…yep. I mentioned it was a non magic story. Which means the boys are not witches and therefore do not have powers. Because yes, if they had their powers this entire situation would be un-problematic and very difficult, no nigh on impossible, to buy. Hell, if they had powers they woulda just orbed. But where would the fun be in that? Lol**

_**dasengelhertzmitflugeln**_**: First thing - *points* that is an extremely weird name. What the hell does it mean? And thanks. I'm flattered that my poor, lowly fic is one of your favorites. I'll keep updating just for you. *smiles* Eh not really **_**just **_**you but you play a part. Enjoy this chappie. **

_**Deathsoul74:**_** Thanks for reviewing again. So nice to know people are sticking around. Lol, I enjoy a vulnerable Chris too…always have and always will I think. And no that doesn't make us bad people. *looks over at a tied up and gagged Chris* "shush hun, I'll finish torturing you in a sec then ship you back to Aaron Spelling and CBS."  
><strong>**Once again, thanks for reading. :)**

_**SeanMatthews369**_**: Oh good. It's a relief to know my plot "doesn't overly rely on, or follow slavishly, the canon plot". I tried, and I guess I succeeded. I wanted to "follow" the original plot but add in and change things too spice it up and make it Charmed worthy. Plus I **_**had**_** to develop the whole back story for **_**why**_** Chris and Wyatt are they way they are where they are, savvy? I wouldn't be happy with it otherwise.  
><strong>**Thank you so much for your review. And, of course, not trusting creepy motel managers is the golden rule. :)**

_**CharmedForever**_**: Lol. That's funny…I'm sorry for making you wake all your family and make them think you were being attacked in your room. *blinks innocently* It was totally not my intention at all to wow you with my wondrous words of brilliance. *winces as Chris smacks her* "What? Was I being too egotistical again? Sorry" *Smiles* Thank you so much for reviewing and your wonderful praise. Oh, and yeah, completed good stories are a minority on fan . *sighs* I'm the guilty owner of a few in progress ones, but I do have plans to finish them. **

_**MabbyAbby:**_** Reviewing issues huh? Lol. Oh well. Thank you for the (two) review(s), and I'm glad you're liking the story. I'm glad you're having fun reading this and here is your next chapter. **

_**MusicLuvr:**_** Yeah…there was this one night when I was writing it in my house all alone and was starting to get unnerved. And when I finished I had to walk through a dark basement to get to my room and I was like, "Shit. Goddamnit I creeped myself out. Way to go." So yeah *shrugs* You're not alone…and I'm the damn author. :) Anyway, thanks for the review!**

_**Myriad-Souls**_**: I agree. Very sick. Which is what makes it an awesome storyline. *grins* So you have seen the movie, but can't remember the end? Hmm…well even if you do what I would do and go google it and read plot summaries to find out if they survived in the end…I might change it…You never know *smirks* So if you want to know if the poor, tortured boys have a nice happy ending you'll just have to…read :) Thanks for the review. **

**So now that I've completely bored you all…read on :)**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

Chris stood in front of the bathroom window. He climbed up on the commode like before taking a deep breath. Reaching forward he nervously pulled at the broken handle acting like he was attempting to get out. He pounded at the window wincing at the loud noise and trying to ignore how sick he was feeling.

A shadow darted past the trees.

Chris jerked back and closed his eyes. Trying to pretend no one was outside he continued to work at the window. He needed to keep their attention. Wyatt was counting on him. If they knew he was out there at the phone…

Chris swallowed to keep his panic under lock and key.

He wasn't one for praying usually, actually he never prayed anymore, but now would probably be a good time to start again. "God, dear freakin' God, please make sure Wyatt hurries his ass up," he whispered.

* * *

><p>Wyatt peered out the door looking around. All clear. He slipped out the door ducking in the shadow near the corner of the building. He scanned the area, swallowing his nervousness, and spotting a cluster of oil drums about halfway between him and the phone.<p>

He took off sprinting over the gravel and ducking down at the center of the oil drums. He turned in a circle checking out all sides. The dark shadows just sat ominously. He licked his lips. Still clear. He eyed the phone a moment, took a deep breath, and ran to the phone booth.

He hurried inside pulling the door closed. The ceiling light buzzed to life, and Wyatt shoved the door back open panicked. The phone booth fell dark again.

Letting out a tense breath, Wyatt grabbed the receiver, stretching the cobwebs out from the old phone. He shoved the dimes into the slot and dialed 911. Glancing around the empty lot he pressed the phone to his ear.

"Come on," he whispered urgently. The phone was ringing then it was answered.

"_911 Emergency," _a man's voice said.

A wave of relief swept over him, and Wyatt pressed himself against the cracked phone booth glass to muffle his voice.

"Yes. We need help. Some people are trying to kill us," he whispered.

"_Where are you located, sir?" _The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but he brushed it off.

"My brother and I, we're at this motel. The Prairie View Motel. It's near the mountains. They've got us trapped here."

"_Who has you trapped, sir?" _

"I don't know," Wyatt said frustrated, "We just need someone to help us. It's the Prairie View Motel."

"_Yes sir, you said that. Do you have an address?"_

"What?" Wyatt snapped. "No. No I don't have the damn address. It's on some side road. Jesus Christ, look it up."

"_You need to settle down. You'll never survive if you lose control, Mr. Halliwell." _

"What are you talking—" Wyatt froze staring at the phone in shock. He hadn't told the guy his name. He hadn't. And that voice.

It echoed up from the phone. _"And you shouldn't be wandering around in the dark by yourself." _

Wyatt's heart stopped as bright lights suddenly washed over the booth and him. He spun around seeing the headlights of his car near blinding him. The car raced off the road blasting across the motel lot towards him.

"_It's just not safe." _

Wyatt dropped the phone diving out of the booth just as his car smashed through it shattering the glass and sending it flying through the air. The car backed away the tires spinning in the gravel. Wyatt scrambled to his feet sprinting back across the lot. He glued his eyes to the door to his room not looking back. He had to get to Chris. Had to get to Chris. Get to Chris. Chris.

The door flew open, Chris standing in the frame. "Run, Wyatt! Hurry up!"

Wyatt charged faster towards the open door, to safety, to Chris. The car sped up behind him and Wyatt's chest burned for air as he pushed himself faster.

"Damnit, Wyatt! Move your fat ass!"

His feet hit the wooden deck, and he dove at Chris tackling his brother in the door. The car veered sideways, skidding across the lot and tossing gravel into the room.

Chris shoved Wyatt off him and slammed the door and locked it. He turned around hugging Wyatt fiercely. Wyatt blinked in shock stumbling back a step. He was frozen a moment before wrapping his arms around Chris tightly.

"Don't leave me again. Please don't ever leave me," Chris whispered not loosening his hold.

Wyatt pulled him closer. "I won't. I promise."

* * *

><p><em>Wyatt followed Doctor Sorian terrified of what he would find. The doctor led him to a room pushing the door open and gesturing for Wyatt to enter. <em>

"_A nurse will be in soon to check on him. Do you need anything?"_

_Wyatt shook his head gazed locked on his little brother. He distantly heard Doctor Sorian leave as he moved on autopilot to the plastic chair beside the bed. He took a breath almost having to remind himself to breathe. He couldn't believe the sight before him. _

_Chris was so pale, so still, so lifeless. He looked so small and fragile. There were so many tubes and wires and bandages. _

_Wyatt buried his face in his hands sobbing uncontrollably. "Oh god...why?"_

* * *

><p>A car horn blared outside causing them to pull apart. They went to the window seeing the car sitting outside, it's head lights flashing at them.<p>

"Is that," Chris cocked his head to the side, "your car?"

Wyatt nodded. "I think so."

Chris blinked. "Assholes. That's messed up." he breathed. "Did you get anybody on the phone?"

"No."

"So what do we do now?"

The car backed up, tearing out of the lot and around the back of the motel office. Wyatt checked his watch.

"It's going to be light in a few hours," he said looking around the room. "They'll want this to be over by then. We need something. Do you have some scissors or anything?"

Chris dug through his bag pulling out random, rather non-threatening, items. He shook his head.

"What about the knife? The one with the apple?" Wyatt asked.

Chris shook his head. "In the car."

Wyatt started to throw open drawers finding nothing but a bible. He tossed it on the bed in disgust. Chris picked it up thoughtfully.

"We could always read it to them. They might die of boredom."

Wyatt stopped turning to stare at Chris in shock and slowly shook his head. His brother really was losing it. The hug should have been the first clue.

Chris shrugged and smiled faintly, but Wyatt could see through the thin front of humor to the near terror beneath. "Fine," Chris said. "It'll still make a good blunt object. Seriously, did you feel how heavy it is?"

Wyatt turned away and walked into the bathroom checking the drawers and tugging at the shower head pipe. Come on, he thought, there has to be something. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. Biting his lip and grabbed a towel wrapping it around his hand and slamming his fist into the mirror. It shattered, jagged shards of glass raining down into the sink. Wyatt picked out the two largest pieces wrapping a washcloth over the ends. He gripped the one like a knife.

He walked out handing the other shard of glass to Chris. "Best I could do," he said defensively at Chris's raised eyebrow. "At least it's better than reading the bible at them."

Chris mustered a strained smile as he and Wyatt slid down the wall to sit in the corner.

"You cut yourself," Chris said softly after a moment. He reached out to Wyatt's hand but pulled back at the last second.

Wyatt inspected the cut shrugging. It wasn't that deep, barely even bleeding anymore "Let's hope that's as bad as it gets."

Chris nodded looking pensive. He chewed on his bottom lip looking around the room then back at Wyatt.

Wyatt frowned as Chris hesitantly snuggled closer, but slowly smiled. For the longest time Chris had avoided any contact with him whatsoever. Now within a span of a few minutes Chris had hugged him and was sitting as close as possible. Wyatt inwardly snorted at the context of the situation that had driven Chris to forego his attempt to cut himself off from Wyatt. They had to have serial killers after them for Chris to admit he still cared about his brother at all. Figured.

"What are they doing?" Chris asked.

Wyatt frowned, semi-good thoughts pushed from his mind, and glanced up at the video camera aimed toward them. "They're enjoying themselves."

* * *

><p><em>Chris's head ached. No. His arm and leg ached. No. Scratch that, everything ached. Everything hurt. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and like some crazy construction worker was going apeshit on his skull with a jack hammer. He tried to draw in a breath and freaked when he couldn't. His throat felt swollen, and he choked trying to move and alleviate the pressure. <em>

_A sudden warm weight rested on his arm, a familiar voice piercing through the fog. _

"_Chris! Chris. Can you hear me? Calm down it's okay. You're at the hospital." _

_The voice didn't calm him, and he struggled harder feeling an eruption of pain from his left side. _

"_Chris. Chris stop. Help! Nurse! Help me! Doctor!"_

_The pain engulfed him to the point where he was aware of nothing else. And then he was back in the black nothingness. _

_When he became aware again it was slower. Like he had to pull himself through a swamp of murky water. This time the same voice guided him to the surface. He opened his eyes, and his vision was filled with a fuzzy blur of Wyatt's face. _

_Wyatt smiled, but it faded quickly. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked exhausted as well as if he'd just been crying. "Hey," he said softly, running a hand down Chris's cheek. "How you feeling, buddy?" _

_Chris stared at him confused. He tried to ask what was wrong, but his throat still felt funny, sore. _

"_No. Doctor said to make sure you didn't try to talk. The nurse should be in soon to check on you." _

_As he spoke the nurse walked in. She was a young, rather plain looking girl, possibly late twenties or early thirties. She smiled wildly at him easing some of his nervousness. _

"_Hello Wyatt. And awake again Chris, that's good. This one seemed to go much smoother than the last." She continued to talk with a slight southern accent as she checked him over. "It's to be expected though. It's not uncommon for patients to panic when they wake up with a respirator. It's a relief to have you off it. There was rough touch and go patch for a bit, but you are definitely on the upside now," she said hands sliding over him in a flurry, checking charts, and scribbling on a clipboard. _

_Chris just watched her then glanced back to Wyatt trying to get him to see how lost he was. What the hell was going on?_

_The nurse seemed to finish what she was doing and asked to speak to Wyatt outside a minute. Wyatt nodded squeezing Chris's hand and telling him he'd be right back. Chris watched them anxiously through the door. He couldn't see the nurse, but whatever she said had Wyatt rubbing a hand over his face and looking devastated. A lead feeling settled in his stomach making him feel slightly nauseous. _

_The nurse and Wyatt reentered. Wyatt reclaimed his seat covering his face with his hands. The lead feeling turned into genuine fear. _

"_Chris?" the nurse said drawing his attention. "Can you recall your birthday? Just blink if you can." _

_Chris blinked. _

"_Can you recall the names of your family?"_

_Chris blinked._

"_Can you recall what happen—" She stopped glancing at Wyatt. "Can you recall the reason why you're here?" _

_Chris stared at her. _

_She nodded. "Well that's to be expected too. I'll inform the doctor." She smiled at them both and left._

_Chris transferred his stare to Wyatt. His brother chewed on his lip leaning his elbows on the edge of the bed. _

"_Chris…Chris do you remember you, Mom, Dad, and Mel going to the store to pick up those decorations two weeks before fourth of July because Mom wanted to have everything for the party?" _

_Chris blinked. _

"_Well," Wyatt shifted licking at his lips. "Chris, fourth of July was three days ago. On the way to the store there…there was an accident."_

_Chris couldn't breathe, and it wasn't because of a respirator this time. Whatever Wyatt was leading up to, it wasn't good. He wished he could tell Wyatt to just spit it out._

"_A car accident. A…a truck hit the car."_

_Chris closed his eyes. Everything was falling into place. But even as his mind processed and came to conclusions he was mentally reeling backwards trying to drown himself in denial. _

_His face felt warm and he realized he was crying. Wyatt gripped his hand tightly fresh tears flowing down his face too. _

"_The others…Chris. Chris, the others…they didn't make it."_

_A rushing sound filled Chris's head and his vision blurred. _

"_I'm so sorry Chris." _

_He couldn't move feeling completely trapped and lost. Thoughts fled his mind, Wyatt words echoing in his head._

"_Shhh. I'm here, Chris. I'm here and I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere."_

_The others…they didn't make it._

_They didn't make it._

_I'm here, Chris. I'm here. _

_I'm not going anywhere. _

_I'm here._

_They didn't make it._

_I'm here…_

* * *

><p>Wyatt glanced at Chris as he jerked awake suddenly. His eyes flew open, and he looked around in a sleepy panic.<p>

"It's all right, Chris," Wyatt said softly his own gaze never fully leaving the TV screen and the old couple on it.

"You let me fall asleep," Chris hissed accusingly.

"Just for a bit. You're exhausted. You need your sleep," Wyatt said rewinding the tape some and watching it again.

"No," Chris said looking around. "I want to be awake." He started to move toward Wyatt, but the blonde stopped him.

Wyatt held a hand out shaking his head. "I need you to stay there."

"What?" Chris said confused.

Wyatt pointed to the black window hidden in the wall across from Chris. "They're watching you."

Chris paled slightly glancing up at the other cameras Wyatt had covered with towels earlier.

"I didn't want them to watch what I was doing. But they have to see you so they know we're not trying to get out," Wyatt explained. His expression softened as Chris pulled his knees up to his chest burying his face in them. "I just need you to sit there, okay?"

Chris nodded keeping his face hidden. "What are you doing?" he asked voice muffled.

Wyatt answered distractedly fast forwarding the tape. "Going through the tapes."

The tape jumped along shots of an old couple racing around the room in a panic, into the bathroom, back out, and crouching in the corner.

"They've got camera's everywhere," Wyatt explained. "Even outside. They edit them together to make their own snuff films. Remember the screaming we heard from the TV that creep was watching in the office?" He waited for Chris's nod before continuing. "I'm sure it was one of these. It's not enough to just rob and kill people. They want to watch it too."

"Why are you watching them?" Chris said disgust in his tone.

Wyatt scrutinized the screen. "I'm looking for mistakes."

"Mistakes? What kind of mistakes?"

"Any kind that might save our lives," Wyatt said wryly. "The other people…they weren't smart."

Chris picked his head up raising an eyebrow. "They were scared, Wyatt. Just like we are."

Wyatt nodded. "Yeah. And they just stayed in here like this room would protect them. It won't. They can come in anytime they want."

He motioned to the screen and the figure continuing his attack on the old couple. The image skipped backwards as he rewound the tape. Wyatt hit play and the couple jumped up from the corner of the room. As they did a figure stepped out of the bathroom.

"They just wait until they get bored watching," Wyatt said pausing the tape. He pointed at it. "There."

"What?"

Wyatt tapped the screen on top of the figure. "It's happened in almost every one of these. He just shows up."

Chris frowned. "And how does that help us? So now we know we aren't safe in the room. Great. We can't leave either."

"How'd he get in here?" Wyatt said. "He wasn't inside before." He replayed the tape again. The old couple moved about the room, slid down into the corner, rushed to the door, and the figure appeared. "And he didn't come through that door."

"The bathroom," Chris said.

Wyatt glanced at him and nodded. "Yeah. I couldn't tell in the others, but the angle with this one…it's the bathroom. And that's where your apple came from."

Wyatt stood moving to the bathroom. "Stay there," he said to Chris.

He closed the bathroom door behind him and hung a towel over the window blocking the view from outside. He flipped on the light scanning the room searching for other cameras. There was a missing tile in the shower. Another camera.

Wyatt lifted the shower curtain back up, obstructing its view. If the men were coming from the bathroom then there had to be a way in and, ergo, a way out. He moved around the room, tugging at the commode and running his hands along the wall looking for seams. Finding nothing he looked up studying the ceiling. The floor squeaked under his foot. He looked down at the rug he was standing on. He pulled the rug aside inwardly cheering at finding a trap door in the floor. Wyatt started to tug it open but stopped at Chris's hushed call.

"Wyatt."

Wyatt hurried back out of the bathroom. Chris was still sitting on the floor in the corner. He pointed at the window. "I saw lights."

Listening closely Wyatt could hear the rumble of an engine. Chris moved with him to the window peering out between the curtains. A beer delivery truck was pulling up outside the motel office.

"Someone's here," Chris whispered.

They watched the truck grind to a stop. Chris bit his lip then started for the door. "Come on."

"Wait," Wyatt said pull Chris back. "We don't know who he is."

"Yeah we do. He's a ride out of this hell hole," Chris said.

Wyatt shook his head. "Unless he's one of them. What's he doing here so late?"

Chris gnawed on his lip considering it. They watched the driver climb down out of the truck.

"Maybe he's lost," Chris said. "That could happen." But he drew closer to Wyatt obviously not buying his own thoughts.

They stood at the window, watching the driver stretch popping the cricks out of his neck.

"He looks like he's been driving a while," said Chris. He glanced at Wyatt. "Just an observation."

The driver turned seeing them at the window. He looked at them a long moment before Wyatt raised his hand and gave the driver a slight wave. The driver glanced around, a little confused, before returning it.

"He can help us," Chris said.

Wyatt frowned. "We can't go out there."

Chris glanced at him then the driver. He hit the window starting to pound on it. "Help!" Wyatt hesitated before joining him trying to get the drivers full attention to communicate their need for help.

The driver stood by his truck watching them bewildered. He glanced around the empty, dark lot then started towards them.

"He's coming," Chris said.

Wyatt shook his head. "They won't let him. He needs to drive the truck over." He tried to motion to the truck, pointing at it. The driver just kept walking to them.

"I have to tell him," Wyatt said starting for the door.

"Wyatt." Chris was staring horrified out the window. Wyatt peered over his shoulder to the driver halfway across the lot and the dark figures closing in on him from behind.

"No!" Wyatt yelled banging on the window. "No! Turn around!"

Chris joined him, pounding on the window, pointing and yelling for the driver to turn around. But the driver kept walking

"They're behind you!" Wyatt yelled. "Turn around!"

Chris slammed his palm on the window. "No! Turn around! Turn the hell around! You freaking idiot!"

The killers closed in on the driver, knives glistening in their hands. The driver continued oblivious towards them no more than twenty yards away.

Then Mason ran up.

Chris froze hand pressed against the glass. "Shit," he whispered. Wyatt felt cold inside. He hadn't believed Chris, but he had hoped that maybe, just maybe, the driver had been a way out.

The driver turned greeting Mason. They chuckled about something both looking towards Wyatt and Chris. Mason handed the driver a box of video tapes taking a wad of cash in return. The driver turned looking straight at Wyatt and Chris and grinned.

Wyatt's stomach clenched as Chris let out a harsh breath of disbelief.

The killers moved past the driver and Mason continuing to the motel room.

Wyatt and Chris stared at the driver in shock and watched as the killers approached. Chris covered his mouth with his hand quietly cursing. Wyatt snapped the curtains closed blocking off the killers' view inside the room. He roughly grabbed Chris's arm dragging him to the bathroom.

"Come on!" He shoved Chris toward to open trap door. "Go."

Chris balked. "What? You want me to jump in the black hole of death? What is this?"

"Just go!"

Chris slid down into the hole, and Wyatt followed him pulling the trap door back over the hole sealing it. He crouched down beside Chris letting his eyes adjust to the dimly lit crawlspace. It was a dirt box with nothing but the trap door in the ceiling, a small square tunnel leading out, and a string of Christmas lights to give the tunnel some illumination.

"We cannot go in there, Wyatt. We don't know what's in there," Chris whispered harshly.

They both froze hearing footsteps above them. Wyatt looked up to the sound then back at the narrow tunnel. "We don't have a choice."

Chris frowned. "Awesome," he muttered weakly. "Option A, get hacked to death by psychopaths. Option B, crawl into the dark tunnel of creepiness, and then get hacked to death by psychopaths."

Wyatt took Chris's hand easing him toward the mouth of the tunnel. "We aren't going to be hacked to death by psychopaths," he said. Chris shook his head pulling back.

Wyatt sighed. "Buddy, we have to. Come on, I'll go first."

Wyatt squeezed into the tunnel dirt falling over him as he crawled deeper. Chris started to follow sticking just his upper body in the hole.

The tunnel was dark, dank, and claustrophobic. It was hand-dug through the earth with just enough room for them to crawl cramped on all fours.

Wyatt turned back stretching his neck to peer under his arm at Chris. He got the sudden feeling this was what it was like to be buried alive.

"Come on, Chris. It's gonna be okay." He crawled deeper into the dimly lit tunnel. "It's gonna lead us out of here." He stopped hearing muffled stomping then the sounds of Chris squirming after him.

The dirt walls squeezed at his body as he crawled, rocks and roots jutting out of the earth around them. He drug himself along the seemingly endless black hole. He was starting to feel claustrophobic himself and couldn't think of how Chris felt. Chris didn't like tight spaces to start with, and after the car crash everything that had used to make him nervous nigh on terrified him now.

* * *

><p>"<em>You wanted to talk to me, Doctor?" Wyatt said easing the door shut behind him. He didn't like letting Chris wait outside by himself, but Chris had said the doctor had wanted to speak to him.<em>

_The doctor looked up shuffling her papers around some. "Ah yes. Wyatt, may I call you Wyatt?" _

_He nodded. _

_The doctor inclined her head. "Please have a seat." _

_Wyatt sat down tentatively. _

_She ruffled a few more papers before clasping her hands and leaning forward slightly. "You were granted guardianship of your brother, correct?" _

_Wyatt nodded unsure of why she was asking. She looked at him quizzically._

"_There's no need to feel nervous. I just want to talk to you some. You are eighteen then?"_

_Again Wyatt nodded his head slightly._

"_And how are you managing? Personally, emotionally, financially?" she asked._

_Wyatt frowned. "Why do you need to know?"_

_The doctor smiled compassionately. "Concern, Wyatt. Concern for you for the first two, and concern for yourself and your brother for the last." _

_He chewed his lip before answering. "I'm dealing as well as I can, I guess. Trying to be strong for Chris. Its hard at times." He blew out a breath. "We were given the option to move in with a family friend as well as my two aunts, but they live far away so I figured it'd be best to stay. Financially we're…okay. My aunts are helping out a lot. I got a job. And my parent's life insurance…" _

"_That's good. I have to say from what I know and what Chris has told me you're holding up remarkably well."_

"_Thank you." _

_She nodded. "What I really wanted to talk to you about was Chris. How do you think he's holding up?" _

_Wyatt floundered. He wasn't a psychiatrist. He didn't know._

"_In your opinion as a brother. How is he doing?"_

_He shrugged. "I don't know. There are times when I think he's fine, and then there are times when he completely shuts down and zones out. And…" He trailed off._

"_And what?" she asked._

"_There are times when he completely, I don't know, freaks out." Wyatt said scrubbing his face with his hands._

"_Freaks out? Can you elaborate a little more?" _

_Wyatt shrugged. "He's nervous a lot now. Lots of people, cars, closed rooms. He doesn't like them. Sometimes he can't breathe for a bit. He gets shaky and erratic. I don't know. And he gets these nightmares."_

_She nodded scribbling with a pen. "I thought so. Wyatt, I truly am very concerned for your brother's mental health. What you're saying correlates with behavior he's been exhibiting in my sessions. What your brother is going through is a very traumatic experience. Especially given his position in it and that fact that he was the sole survivor. You're familiar with survivor's guilt, right?" _

"_Yeah," Wyatt chuckled humorlessly. "I've seen the movies."_

_She smiled wryly. "You share your brother's humor. Though I must say his is much more caustic." _

_Wyatt nodded. "That it is." _

"_Survivor's guilt is a symptom of PTSD. I believe—"_

"_You mean post traumatic stress disorder?" Wyatt asked sitting up straighter. _

_She nodded, frowning lightly. "Yes. That's what I'm referring to. Your brother is exhibiting multiple symptoms including the survivor's guilt. I want to prescribe him an antidepressant. I'm generally very hesitant in prescribing children medications like this, but Chris's situation is very delicate. It's hard enough to lose a parent or a sibling. But to lose both at one time and feel responsible…what we can do for Chris now is extremely crucial. He is going to need you a lot in the coming months, Wyatt."_

"_I know. And I'm here. I just need a little guidance as to what I should do." _

"_Just be there. That's the best thing you can do. He's going to be scared. Anxious and nervous. He's going to be depressed and moody. He's going to try to push you away. Be snappy and angry. But all you have to do is be there. The rest is up to him." _

* * *

><p>Almost everything since Wyatt left the interstate had been making Chris more and more nervous.<p>

And now he was being drug through a tiny underground tunnel. Judging from what Wyatt could hear, he wasn't handling it well. His breathing was quick and uneven, coming in small gasps. God, Wyatt was a failure as a brother.

"I can't, Wyatt. I have to go back."

"Chris, no." Wyatt halted trying to speak calmly and quickly. He may have been failing up till now, but Chris needed him to be in control, to not fail anymore. "We can't go back. They'll be waiting for us."

"I can't breathe," Chris choked out.

"Yes you can," Wyatt soothed. "Just close your eyes. Grab hold of my leg and I'll lead you. It won't be much further."

Wyatt felt Chris take hold of his ankle, then crawl behind him. They continued on and the tunnel squeezed even tighter as they reached a partially collapsed portion. Dirt rained over them as they crawled through the sliver of space. Chris gripped Wyatt's angle harder, his slim fingers digging in to the bone. Wyatt winced in slight pain but continued to crawl.

More dirt fell over them like the passage was about to cave in.

"Wyatt, please. It's going to fall," Chris whispered.

"No it isn't. Come on. Picture yourself in a field Chris. A wide open field. There are trees in the distance and big mountains. They look real small because they're so far away, but you can still see them." He crawled on trying to move faster until his hand closed around a handful of flesh and fur. The thing he grabbed squeaked, and he dropped it in shock. As if the universe wasn't cruel enough. "Shit," he muttered. He pulled his hand back and watched the mouse scurry away into a larger moving shadow. Dozens of mice filled the tunnel ahead.

"What is it?" Chris asked fearfully. "What's the matter?"

"You can't scream, Chris."

The answer was little more than a short burst of breath. "What?"

"They'll hear us if we scream."

He pulled Chris forward toward the mound.

"Wyatt?"

"Just keep moving."

Wyatt's hand hit the center of the pile, and the mice scattered rushing to crawl away from him, over his hand, and some up his arm. He reached further, and more mice squirmed out from under his hands and slithered out of a metal grate in the wall, some scurrying beneath him to Chris.

He felt Chris halt, heard the catch in his already irregular breathing. He held his breath, but there was no further sounds from his brother.

The frightened mice raced up the tunnel walls falling back down onto Wyatt and Chris's backs, into their hair, and over their faces.

"We're almost there," Wyatt said. "Remember we're in a field. Let's make it winter so it's cold. There always seems to be so much air to breathe when it's cold. And the sky is so blue and bright. There are only a few clouds. The big fluffy ones that make the sky look really deep."

He kept crawling, sliding over the tiny bodies until all the squeaks faded and his hands met only dirt and rocks again. A sliver of light appeared, and Wyatt felt a wave of relief crash into him. He quickened his movements.

"I see something," he told Chris.

"What is it?"

"Light." He could almost tangibly feel Chris's want to get out. "A door maybe."

He drug himself toward it finally reaching another dirt box. Rolling out of the tunnel, he twisted around grabbing Chris's arms just above the elbow to pull him out. Wyatt smoothed some of Chris's sweaty hair out of his face unnerved by how pale he was. "Are you okay?"

Chris nodded scrubbing his shaking hands over his face. "Yeah, yeah. Where are we?"

Wyatt looked up at the thin, square-shaped crack of light above him and shrugged. He had no idea. He pressed up against the square inching it upward. Squinting through the crack and scanning the floor of a dimly lit room he saw the legs of furniture and a plate of half-eaten food on the floor.

He nearly dropped the square hearing a sudden shout.

"_Oh, God, please no!"_

Scrambling he kept the square from hitting the edge and looked down at Chris signaling him to not make a sound.

"_I'll give you money. As much as you want." _

There were sounds of a struggle, but it sounded distant and almost false. Wyatt pushed the square up again peering through the crack. He lifted it further seeing a TV playing one of the snuff films. A man was begging one of the killers for his life.

Wyatt rose up from the hole, reaching down to help Chris up behind him. He ducked down out of sight beneath a large picture window overlooking the parking lot. Chris crouched beside him. Wyatt glanced around the room.

There was a wall of monitors, all displaying different angles of the Honeymoon Suite and motel grounds. Video cameras and equipment were piled all over the place.

There was a wall of shelves filled with VHS tapes, each on hand-labeled with names. Steve and Sharon S. Glen and Flo D. It looked like a private collection of the snuff films. Another shelf was stacked full of dusty watches, jewelry, toy dolls, truck stop souvenirs, a collection of rearview mirror crucifixes and rabbits feet, and drivers licenses of various people. All possessions of victims probably.

It was an unnerving room, especially with the man screaming on the TV. Wyatt could tell Chris agreed with him by how he was fidgeting with his coat cuffs again.

They eased to the door glancing out into the motel office.

"We're no better off than we were," Chris murmured.

Wyatt shook his head. "We're still alive. That's better." He turned back to the room beginning to dig through the mess looking for something they could use.

"There's gotta be something here we can use," he muttered.

Chris joined in, the two of them scrounging the room for everything and anything.

"Wyatt."

Wyatt turned around. Chris held a blanket up and pointed at the phone sitting beneath it. He picked it up flashing a hopeful look at Wyatt before hurriedly dialing 911.

"I've tried that already," Wyatt whispered. "It was…"

The tinny sound of a female voice reached his ears.

"People are trying to kill us," Chris whispered urgently. "We're at the Pr—"

Wyatt clamped a hand over Chris's mouth at the jingle of a bell. The bell above the office door. Chris caught on just as quickly dropping the phone and following right behind Wyatt back down into the tunnel. Wyatt lowered the square on the trap door then pulled Chris down the tunnel behind him. A sense of urgency kept him moving, plowing straight through all the mice. He took the first turn they came across knowing he didn't want to go back to the Honeymoon Suite. At the next turn he paused debating which way to go; they'd turned right at first and if they kept going right they'd go in a circle. He went left.

Chris clutched his leg again, breathing growing erratic, but he kept up. Wyatt saw another light ahead and pulled himself out of the tunnel. He scrambled up the ladder pushing the trap door open cautiously. The room above was a tool shed of sorts and empty. He shoved the door aside pulling Chris up behind him. He replaced the door looking around the room. Grabbing the edge of a heavy looking crate he pulled on it hard managing to slide it a little. Chris darted to the other side pushing it. They moved it on top of the door and crouched beside it.

Wyatt moved to the dirty window taking stock of their new position. They were in the shed at the back of the parking lot across from the office.

"We're at the other end of the lot," Wyatt whispered.

Chris slid to the floor leaning against the double green doors. "And they'll look for us here. Maybe not right away, but they will."

"But we can't try to run. Not yet. We have to let them think we've gotten away. Let them go after us. Then we can run," Wyatt said.

Chris looked at him. "What if they look in here first?"

"Damnit, Chris, I don't know. I'm doing the best I can here," Wyatt said joining his brother and running his hands through his hair.

Chris nodded squeezing his eyes closed and kneading his temples. Wyatt clenched his jaw then hesitantly reached over to hug him. Chris tensed at first but relaxed, letting Wyatt's strong arms encircle him.

"I'm sorry," Chris mumbled.

Wyatt shook his head, absent mindedly running his hand through Chris's hair. "Nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one that left the interstate."

Chris laughed mirthlessly. "No, I mean about everything else. About us…about Mom and Dad…about Mel. I should've been more careful. Should've watched the road closer. Made sure everyone was stopping. That no one was running the light."

"No," Wyatt said. "It isn't your fault. None of it was. It was an accident."

"But I was the one driving. I was the one responsible for watching. I should have been watching," Chris said, voice thickening as he spoke. Wyatt felt his shirt grow damp as Chris shoulders shook slightly. Wyatt pushed him back holding his face to make him meet his gaze. He had suspected Chris was thinking like this, had tried continuously to tell him it wasn't his fault, but it had fallen on deaf ears.

* * *

><p>"<em>You haven't spoken for weeks." <em>

_Wyatt moved about the living room folding the blankets and replacing the pillows."I talked with the school today. They said if you wanted you could take the rest of the year off you could, but they didn't recommend it."_

_He straightened the blankets some making sure any creases were smoothed out. "I think you should consider going back. It's a new semester and I think it'll be good for you to have something to do." _

_He sighed walking over to lean against the doorway looking into the conservatory. Chris sat on the wicker bench in the same position he'd sat down in before breakfast that morning. He stared out the window giving no indication to having heard a word Wyatt had said. _

"_You're not going to say anything are you?" Wyatt whispered. _

_He sighed again picking up the plate of food he'd sat next to the brunette earlier. The two pieces of toast with jam and slices of strawberries and kiwi were untouched. He chewed his lip gazing at his brother. Chris just stared vacantly out the window. _

_Wyatt turned abruptly striding into the kitchen. He dumped the food in the trash, forcibly tossing the plate on the counter. He leaned against the counter gripping the edge tightly and breathing slowly._

_He could do this. He could do this. He could. He could. He could. _

_Wyatt squeezed the counter harder._

_Who was he kidding? He couldn't do this. He'd just graduated high school. He was only eighteen for god's sake. He wasn't supposed to be playing parent. He wasn't supposed to be trying to care for his traumatized sixteen year old brother. He was supposed to be starting his second semester in college. He was supposed to be hanging out with friends, teaching his little brother the ways of wooing the girls and keeping him out of trouble, and bashing in the skulls of any boy who so much looked at his sister the wrong way. _

_He was not supposed to have needed to plan, manage, and attend the funerals of his mother, father, and sister. He was not supposed to have to make sure his little brother made all his doctor, therapist, and physical therapy appointments. He was not supposed to have to listen to his little brother's cries and screams from the nightmares each night. He was not supposed to need to discuss his brother's mental recovery with a psychiatrist. He was not supposed to be his little brother's single guardian. _

_This was not supposed to happen. _

_He yelled in frustration hurling the plate at the sink. It shattered on impact, pieces of ceramic flying in every direction. He buried his face in his hands, broken sobs surging from his lungs scraping his throat raw. He ran his fingers through his hair tugging insistently at the short strands and taking deep breaths. Wiping at his eyes, he peeked in the conservatory reassured to see Chris still sitting there. Taking a couple more breaths, Wyatt felt composed enough to leave the kitchen. _

_Wyatt knew Chris had probably heard the plate smash but hoped he would just think he'd dropped it. Chris needed him to be stable, to be strong. He couldn't lose it in front of Chris. _

"_You didn't touch your food," he said. His voice sounded off and he cleared his throat hurriedly. "You're going to need to eat something for dinner." _

_Chris ignored him. _

_Wyatt sat down resting his elbows on his knees. He waited hoping Chris would talk. He didn't, so Wyatt did._

"_I know you miss them. I do too. Terribly. It feels like a giant part of me was just ripped out and torn to shreds…it hurts so much I just want to curl up, bawl my eyes out, and forget the rest of the world._

_But I can't. And you can't ignore the world either, Chris. Mom, Dad, and Mel are gone. But you're not. You're not gone, Chris. You're still here, and you need to be here._

_It wasn't your fault. You may have been driving, but it was not _your_ fault. It was an accident and nothing more. And as much as it hurts life is going to keep going and move on._

_I'm not going to tell you that the hurt will stop because it probably won't ever go away no matter how much time passes. But it's been two months and we need to…start adjusting to how life is going to be from now on._

_Come on Chris, I'm still here and I…I want you here. I feel as if I've lost my brother too._

_I love you, Chris. I just hope you know that." _

_Chris remained silent and unmoving._

_Wyatt sighed. Apparently a heart to heart wasn't on Chris's agenda today. "I'm gonna go…clean something. Just call if you need anything." _

* * *

><p>"Listen to me," Wyatt said. "You have to stop blaming yourself. Nobody else does. We just have to get out of here first, okay? Everything starts over again once we make it out of this."<p>

Chris managed a small nod. Wyatt smiled and patted his cheek before standing. He moved back to the window and was surprised to see a highway patrol car pull into the lot.

"Somebody else is out there," he said.

* * *

><p><strong>Who could that be? Another killer? Or a poor, wittle cop? <strong>

**Who knows? And, wow, I didn't realize how many flashbacks were in this chapter till now.**

**There you go. It's late so I'm gone. :)**

**See ya around folks. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Almost to the end! Second to last chapter here people. Then only the epilogue to go. **

**So. We'll just cut to the chase. No beta. I don't own. Blah, blah, blah…boring.**

**A big Thank You to all my reviewers and my readers. **

**Review Responses**

_**Ptite-toile:**_** A fellow Supernatural lover? I'll state outright I'm a Supernatural geek. I can quote practically every episode from seasons one, two, and three. I'm working on four, five, and six. *smiles* Glad you like the story. Thanks for reviewing! **

_**T.V. programs rule: **_**Thanks for the review! Hope you like this chapter too. P.S. T.V. programs do rule. **

_**Lizardmomma:**_** Don't like horror movies? Well, that's okay. I'm glad you like my story. Thanks for reviewing. :)**

_**Deathsoul74:**_** Thank you, as always, for your review. Your comments are so kind, and your reviews ever so motivational to my inspiration. **

_**SeanMatthews369:**_** They do fail to escape a lot, don't they? Lol. I shall not stop threatening the lives of your favorite brothers. And if you're a weird strange person for reading it…what does that say about the person who wrote it? :) Thanks for your review.**

_**CharmedForever: **_**Yes…I did make Wyatt suffer didn't I? I, like you, usually don't like Wyatt either, but he's wormed his way into a lot of my fics. I'm glad you like him okay here though. It's good to know I'm conveying what I wanted with the flashbacks. Thanks for reviewing. *smiles***

_**MabbyAbby:**_** Thank you for reviewing. I'm flattered my story is entertaining you so. Your chance to see who the mystery person is has finally arrived. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

Chris wiped at his face and moved beside Wyatt staring intently at the highway patrol vehicle. They watched as a cop, a middle aged portly man, stepped out of the car.

"The 911," Chris breathed. He turned starting for the door.

Wyatt grabbed him, paranoia bursting to life. Chris looked at him like he was crazy. Wyatt motioned out the window. Mason was walking out of the office and shaking hands with the cop. "Or he's one of them. Like the truck driver. You didn't even tell the 911 where we were. Why would they come?"

"I don't know. Maybe they traced the call. Or caller ID and looked up the number. They _can_ do that, you know," Chris said. But he didn't make another move for the door.

Mason and the cop were standing by the car discussing something. The cop was gesturing around while Mason nodded. Wyatt huffed, frustrated and wishing he could hear what they were talking about.

The cop started toward the motel rooms, Mason lagging a step or so behind and tossing glances around the lot. The cop veered straight for the Honeymoon Suite, and Mason picked up his pace getting to the door before the cop. He fiddled with his keys before laughing and saying something. He started back towards the office but stopped when the cop spoke. He handed over the keys to the cop then walked back across the lot.

The cop stood in front of the door to the Honeymoon Suite then he jiggled the handle. The door remained shut. He moved to room seven, opened the door and disappeared inside.

"They're looking for us," Wyatt said.

"What if he's here to help us?" Chris asked.

Wyatt shook his head. "He isn't. That guy wouldn't let him look around by himself like that. And I called 911 before, remember? It was them that answered."

Wyatt gnawed his lip as the cop stumbled out of the Honeymoon Suite door suddenly gun in hand. He looked about the lot frantically.

Chris frowned. "He looks scared. Unless this is some elaborate hoax, I don't think he's with them."

Wyatt stared at the cop, quickly weighing the odds of trusting the cop or not trusting the cop. Chris was depending on his decision. "Maybe," he said. "I don't know."

The crate behind them thudded as someone pounded on the trap door, lifting the crate into the air slightly. It slammed back to the floor. Chris jumped, spinning to stare at the crate blocking the trap door to the tunnels. Wyatt looked at it then back to the cop. He was hustling to his car.

"He's going to leave, Wyatt," Chris said.

Wyatt froze; unsure. Chris was relying on him. He needed to decide. He needed to decide now. Another thud sounded from under the trap door.

Chris shot him a pleading look. "He's going to leave."

They didn't have a choice. There was no deciding. Wyatt grabbed Chris's arm throwing open the door, and together they charged out of the shed.

"Help us!" Chris shouted waving his arms to get the cop's attention.

The cop whirled around and raised his gun.

"Wait!" Wyatt shoved Chris behind them slowing his run. "Please, don't shoot." The cop paused then lowered the gun seeming to take in their appearance. Wyatt was sure they looked like quite the sight; terrified, dirty, and dashing across the road.

"Get in the car!" the cop shouted hurrying to the driver's door. Wyatt and Chris slid into the passenger side.

The cop leaped inside turning the key in the ignition. It clicked. He flipped the key back and repeated the action. More clicking was all that sounded.

Wyatt swallowed. "What's the matter with it?"

The cop shook his head then squinted at the windshield noticing the hood raised a few inches like someone worked on the engine then silently closed the hood. He grabbed the police radio. The wires were all cut.

"They're not going to let us leave," Chris whispered.

The cop set his jaw. "I'm not givin' 'em a choice. Stay here," he ordered. He climbed out, his gun cocked and ready.

Wyatt felt a lead stone drop in his stomach. "Wait," he started, but the cop was already out. Chris reached over locking the door. Wyatt twisted in his seat, trying to look in all directions at once. The killers had to be watching them. They had to know he and Chris were in the car. He watched through the windshield as the cop moved around the front of the car, scanning the area as he lifted the hood and disappeared behind it. After a tense moment the cop pulled the hood down looking worried.

A shadow seemed to rise up behind him. Chris cried out and Wyatt felt his heart skip a beat. The cop looked confused, then fear washed over his face as he turned quickly gun raised. The knife slammed into his back before he completed the action.

Wyatt pushed himself back against the seat shouting in shock. All the death he'd seen in the tapes was suddenly right in front of him and very real. Chris yelled as Wyatt threw open the door dragging Chris out of the car. He stumbled across the lot running as fast as he could pulling Chris with him. He spun around seeing Mason in the middle of the parking lot twirling his gun.

"You just had to drag him into this, didn't you?" Mason drawled. "You might have stuck that knife in him yourselves."

Wyatt turned around searching for a place to run. The other killer was coming out of the shed, Mason was in the middle of the lot, and the first killer was walking away from the dead body of the cop. Wyatt swallowed. There was only one place to go. He tugged on Chris's hand heading to the Honeymoon Suite. He rushed inside slamming the door behind Chris and locking it.

"They killed him, Wyatt!" Chris yelled. "They just killed him!"

The front door was shoved open straining against the chain. Wyatt threw himself against it pounding at the killer's arm as it snaked in the door trying to break the chain. Chris looked around the room grabbing one of the shards of glass from the mirror. He rushed to the door stabbing it into the killer's arm.

The killer cried out pulling back his arm. Wyatt slammed the door closed bolting the lock. He pointed at the bed. "Help me move it."

He and Chris drug the bed over, jamming it against the door. Wyatt tipped one of the dressers shoving it across the floor and over the trap door in the bathroom efficiently blocking it. He knocked the shower rod down, wedging it against the sink to secure the dresser against the floor.

"They'll find another way in," Chris said.

Wyatt nodded. "I'm just trying to slow them down." He pulled open the adjoining room door. The door to room seven was open. He waved his hand at Chris. "Come on!"

He rushed through the room, Chris hot on his heels, and pulled open the next adjoining room door revealing the door to room six. He braced himself and kicked at the door. It broke off the hinges, and Wyatt shoved past it racing through the next room. Wyatt repeated kicking the door down, and they sprinted into the next room. Wyatt and Chris ran through room after room until they reached the last one, and there were no more rooms.

Wyatt bolted the front door and secured the chain across it. He and Chris grabbed a dresser shoving it against the adjoining door.

"They'll be coming, Wyatt. Where do we go now?"

Wyatt searched the room, hurrying to the bathroom. He snatched the carpet up, but there wasn't a trap door beneath. He went to the window turning the handle. The window cranked open.

"Here," he called softly.

Chris entered the bathroom and climbed up onto the commode to slide out. He twisted trying to squirm through. After a minute of maneuvering he pulled back.

"I can't. It's too small. There's no way," Chris said.

"Just keep trying."

Chris shook his head. "I'd barely get halfway out. You won't even come close."

"Shit." Wyatt said leaving the bathroom. He peeked out the edge of the window. "I don't see them."

"Well, don't let it fool you, they're out there," Chris stated.

Wyatt frowned. "Maybe around back," he mused. "Or underneath us. If I could make it to the office. He kept his guns there."

Wyatt glanced around the room again looking up at the ceiling. It was made of foam tiles. He grabbed a chair climbing up and pushed one of the tiles away. He poked his head up through the hole scanning the area. It was dark and dusty.

"This could work," he muttered. He dropped back down.

Chris eyed suspiciously. "What could work?"

Wyatt ignored him reaching under his coat and tearing off a piece of his shirt.

"Hey," Chris objected. "What are you doing?"

Wyatt went into the bathroom rushing to the window. He snagged the piece of material over a sliver of splintered wood. The cloth hung there blowing in the breeze.

"Leaving them a trail," he finally answered. He hurried back to the chair motioning Chris up. "They'll think you made it out the window. They won't look up there."

"What about you?" Chris asked an apprehensive anxious look overtaking his features.

"I'm gonna get to the office. To that Grade A Creep's gun," Wyatt stated.

The anxious look turned to one of fear. "No. You said you wouldn't leave me again."

"It's just for a minute," Wyatt reassured. "Swear to God."

Chris shook his head not liking the idea at all.

"Come on, Chris."

"Wyatt—"

"Chris. Just a minute."

The brunette worried his lip and nodded. He stepped up on the chair.

"You're a liar, Wyatt. It's gonna take a lot longer than a minute," Chris whispered reaching up into the ceiling space.

Wyatt chuckled and nodded. "Yeah. Why don't you time me? Now you just have to stay real quiet up there, buddy," he said.

Chris pulled himself up, struggling slightly. Wyatt grabbed his legs shoving him up into the hole. Chris scrambled into the attic crawling over the wooden joists. He shifted around peering down from the hole.

"Now pull the tile back over," Wyatt said.

"I don't want to do this, Wyatt."

"We have to. It's our only shot," he said. Chris started pulling the tile back over the hole. "And you have to be quiet, buddy. I mean not a sound. Whatever you hear or see…don't scream. Don't make a sound."

Chris nodded clenching his jaw and set the tile back.

"We're going to make it out of here," Wyatt said.

"Promise?"

Wyatt looked up through the slivers of space at Chris. "Promise. Remember. Not a sound. Don't even move."

* * *

><p>Chris peered down through the cracks between the tiles catching slivers of movement. Wyatt pushed the chair back across the room, under the desk. Chris shifted to a comfortable position that he could still see Wyatt in. He clenched his teeth already feeling the familiar tightening in his chest and shakes in his hands.<p>

"They're coming, Chris. I have to go."

Chris swallowed feeling cold suddenly. "Wyatt?"

"They won't know you're up there. Stay quiet and they'll never know."

Wyatt started toward the door and Chris covered his mouth with his hand to quiet his harsh breathing. Wyatt stopped at the door looking up at the ceiling.

"I love you."

* * *

><p>"<em>I love you, Chris. I just hope you know that." <em>

_Chris didn't acknowledge that Wyatt was there. He didn't want to talk. He didn't know what to say, what to do. _

_The admission made him want to curl up in a ball and die. How could Wyatt love him still? The boy who killed his parents and sister. He didn't deserve Wyatt's love anymore. He wasn't worthy. _

_Wyatt sighed. "I'm gonna go…clean something. Just call if you need anything." _

_Wyatt was driving himself into the ground. Keeping up with everything like he was. And what did Chris do? He just sat here. No help to anyone, not even himself. He was lost. He didn't know how he was supposed to handle this. He locked down. Retreated inside. Hid away from the world. _

_He wasn't blind. Wyatt was suffering just as much as he was. But he didn't know what to do about it. How was he supposed to help Wyatt when he couldn't even help himself even a little bit? And if he could, why would Wyatt even want his help? His comfort? _

_He wouldn't. _

_He needed Wyatt. He knew that. Without him..._

_He needed Wyatt. But Wyatt would be much better off without him. _

* * *

><p>Chris squeezed his eyes shut pushing his forehead against the wooden beam. <em>Please God, don't let anything happen to him. Keep him safe. Please.<em>

He heard Wyatt walk across the room, footsteps quiet on the floor. Heard him pull open the door. Heard a slight gasp.

Against his will his eyes snapped open trained unerringly on Wyatt below. The door was open and one of the killers stood just outside. Chris clamped his hand tighter over his mouth, chest constricting painfully.

The killer shoved Wyatt back into the room and stepped in after him. Chris just stared, Wyatt standing below him. The man moved close to Wyatt, nose to nose. So close. Too close. Raised his knife.

_Move Wyatt! Goddamnit! Move!_

The killer thrust the knife forward.

Chris squeezed his eyes shut covering his ears with his hands. He didn't scream, didn't move, didn't breathe. Couldn't breathe. He trembled involuntarily, trying to will himself to hold utterly still. He clenched his jaw, the burning in his lungs becoming unbearable, but he didn't draw a breath, couldn't draw a breath.

"Let's get the other one out here and do this."

Chris gasped in a quiet lungful of air, swallowing any noise he wanted to make. He froze waiting for the inevitable. For one of the men to push up the tile and find him. He listened to the footsteps and inwardly screamed himself senseless.

"Find him!"

Hurried footsteps left the room, and Chris blinked in shock. He opened his eyes seeing Mason right below him. He gulped, trembling so hard he could barely stay balanced on the joists. Mason walked out, and Chris glanced around the attic he was in. Easing himself to a slab of flat wood laid across the beams, he curled up pulling his knees tightly to his chest.

Tears poured freely down his face, and he let himself cry not knowing what else to do.

He was alone.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm so bad. Yep. I know what ya'll are thinking…How could I? <strong>

**So...this is a lot shorter than the others, but…that's just how it worked out. The last three chapters are the shortest. *sigh* Hope I didn't disappoint. :) **

**Anyhoo…Reviews anyone? **

**Till next time *waves***


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry for the delay :) RL jutted in there, but here it is. Only the epilogue left to go now.**

**Review Responses: **

_**Lizardmomma: **_**Ahh…I, personally, love horror movies. Supernatural is absolutely awesome and am so, so, happy the seventh season has started. And you haven't seen the sixth yet? I'll keep my fingers in check and not spoil it for you. :) Oh…and yes dead Wyatt = bad for Chris. Hopefully something will happen to make it all better. **

_**T.V. programs rule: **_**Yes Wyatt's dead. Guess you have to read to see what happens. Enjoy the chapter and I'm sorry I didn't have it up sooner. **

_**Nichole: **_**All I've have to say to you is…What the hell? I don't understand what "Man was n" means. Someone help me out here? :)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

"_I want to move in with Darrel and Shelia." _

_Chris stared at his plate of barely touched food. He knew Wyatt was staring at him in shock, but he couldn't look. If he did, he'd lose his resolve. _

"_What?" Wyatt asked._

_Chris gnawed at his lip. "I want to move in with Darrel. Have my guardianship transferred." _

_Wyatt was silent for a long moment while Chris just twirled his fork in his spaghetti. _

"_Why?"_

"_It would be for the best."_

"_I repeat, Chris. Why?"_

_Chris shrugged. The truth was he couldn't stay in this house anymore. He couldn't live here when three of his family were never going to come home. And Wyatt didn't need to have to do what he was doing. He deserved to be an eighteen year old. He deserved to go to college. Wyatt didn't need to deal with him. He knew he was a problem. He couldn't stay with Wyatt anymore. He couldn't stay with his one living family member, with his brother, when he was responsible for the deaths of the others. _

"_They told you that you would always have the option," Chris said._

_Wyatt scoffed. "Yeah. But I never intended to take it." _

"_I want to." _

"_Shouldn't we discuss this?" Wyatt said incredulous. _

"_I've already made up my mind," Chris stated._

"_But why? Chris, if something's wrong you can tell me. Why this sudden decision to want to leave?"_

"_I'm just done, Wyatt. I don't want to do this anymore." _

* * *

><p>Chris opened his eyes, blinded by a bright light. He sat up at first thinking it was a flashlight before realizing it was actually sunlight. Sunlight. It was day…or dawn at least.<p>

He stretched as much as he could in the cramped place and squinted through the cracks. He inched one of the ceiling tiles over straining to get an angle of the room. There was no sign of anyone. At least not in the parts he could see. He inched the tile over more before setting it aside entirely. Bracing himself on the beams he lowered himself out of the hole and dropped to the floor as softly as he could. His knee protested immediately, flaring up with pain that made Chris stumble a bit before he caught himself. He stayed crouched, tensed, half expecting someone to come charging after him.

No one appeared.

Chris looked out the open front door seeing Wyatt's body lying on the ground. Chris shivered and looked away quickly, fighting back tears. Scrubbing at his face, he started toward Wyatt. He moved slowly afraid to get close.

He couldn't handle this. There was no way.

He knew he was a messed up kid. Hell, he knew he had issues. Major issues. Damnit, his freaking issues had issues. Yes, he admitted it fully that he was skewed. His mind was damaged, his emotional state entirely frazzled, and his physical state left a lot to be desired. But he was working at it…trying to. He was. But it was so hard at times. He wanted to recover. He wanted things to go back to being normal between him and Wyatt, and he had been clinging to the edge for so long. But this…this was going to shove him right off the edge. It was.

Chris froze. Heard a slight scuff behind him. He spun around startling the killer and himself. The killer lunged at him, but Chris took off racing past Wyatt's body. He hit the middle of the lot, skidding in the loose gravel. The sun beat down from the sky burning his eyes as he squinted in the sudden blindingly bright light. Looking around frantically he forced his brain to focus, mentally listing his options.

Run.

Woods.

Motel room.

Run.

Office.

Shed.

Run.

Car.

Car. Wyatt's car. Car then run.

Chris spun around spying Wyatt's car sitting tucked around the corner of the building. Without thinking, he charged toward it throwing open the door and diving inside. He slammed the door behind him locking it. There was a homemade key of jagged silver metal jammed into the ignition. Chris turned it and willed the engine to crank. It roared to life and Chris threw it into gear. He hadn't driven in a year, and a detached part of him froze in terror, but right now his mind ran on auto. The car pitched forward, and Chris spun the wheel aiming for the road.

A shape whipped past and fists smashed through his window. He screamed shoving at the arms clutching at him. The killer thrust his upper body through the window onto him. Chris stepped on the gas, jerking at the steering wheel as he struggled.

The killer clawed at Chris's throat, wrapping his hands around it cutting off his air supply. Chris gagged trying to escape. He let go of the wheel scratching at the coarse hands gripping his neck.

The car lurched.

Concrete, plaster, and wood exploded, and for the second time in his life Chris felt his body decelerate faster than it should as the car slammed into the motel room. The airbag deployed forcing his head back and keeping him from smashing his brains out on the dashboard.

The car halted abruptly, and the killer in the window was jerked out, disappearing in a cloud of dust and debris.

Chris coughed pushing the bag out of his face. He fumbled with the door handle, pulling at it weakly. It creaked open and he drug himself out rolling onto the ground. He tried to catch his breath willing the dizziness away and used the car to pull himself up. He stumbled back seeing the other killer struggling in front of the car where he was pinned to the wall, crushed.

Chris swallowed, fighting his urge to vomit, and looking around for the one who'd been in the window. The sound of moving debris made Chris spin around, and the killer stumbled out of the rubble gripping his knife. Chris scrambled backwards grabbing a piece of wood as a weapon.

The killer pulled off his ski mask, and Chris gulped recognizing the mechanic man from Small's. The man wiped a hand across his mouth smearing blood from his split lip. He grinned at Chris sadistically.

"Happy Fourth of July you son of a bitch."

Chris tightened his grip on the wood, standing like it was a bat. The killer rushed at him, and Chris stepped sideways swinging hard. It hit the man's arm, and Chris heard a sharp crack. The man yelled stumbling forward. Chris swung again, but the man rolled away kicking at Chris's knee.

Chris fell, gritting his teeth at the blinding pain. The man straddled him, and he bucked trying to shove the offending body up. He thrashed again shoving harshly and succeeding in throwing the man off him.

He scrambled, crawling, and a hand jerked him backwards, his chin cracking painfully against the ground, vision going black and fuzzy. He reached out wrapping his hand around the first thing he touched. He rolled over swinging the object around.

It hit with a satisfying thud and slight crunch. The killer tripped, falling forward and stayed unmoving next to Chris. Chris gasped for breath trying to blink his vision back. He rolled away pushing himself to his hands and knees.

Chris risked a peek at the unmoving man shocked to see the piece of wood imbedded in his head by what he guessed was a large nail, blood welling up sluggishly around it. Chris's stomach turned, and he shoved himself away gagging wretchedly.

"No!"

The shout broke through the silence that had fallen wrenching Chris from his mild state of shock and reminding him that it still wasn't over yet. He looked down to the open partition door of the destroyed room.

Mason was racing through the rooms toward him, shoving splintered doors away and holding his six-shooter gun to his side.

Chris staggered to his feet running across the lot, his first and only thought to get away from Mason. But that wasn't enough anymore. There was no just getting away. He'd already killed two of them. Now it was him or Mason. Kill or be killed.

Chris would do his damned best to make sure it wasn't him. For all those people before him. For himself. For Wyatt.

Chris bit his lip, hesitating for mere seconds as Mason banged around behind him. Arriving at the plan had been the easy part. Now he needed to do it. Somehow.

Wyatt had said there was a gun in the office, and right now, a gun was exactly what he needed. He ran to the office bursting through the door looking around frantically. Almost immediately he spotted the remaining six-shooter on the display rack above the back room door. Darting around the counter he stretched straining to reach it. His fingers barely brushed the edge of the rack.

"Damnit," he gasped stretching higher. "Come on."

He heard heavy foot falls outside. Any minute Mason would be in here. Any second, he could be dead.

Chris jumped, fingers hitting the butt of the gun and knocking it loose. He caught it as it fell, the jingle of the door bell sounding through the room.

It felt like a bull slammed into him knocking him forward into the doorway. His head smacked off the wood stunning him. He felt himself lifted, thrown over the counter and he hit the floor hard.

A hand fisted in his hair dragging him across the floor, and then a cord wrapped around his throat choking him. Chris flailed, kicking his legs out. He pulled at the arms behind him, but the pressure didn't lessen.

"You're gonna pay for what you did," Mason whispered in his ear. "I'm gonna make you hurt so bad. I'm gonna do to you _everything _I want."

The cord left suddenly. Chris coughed rolling to his side. A foot hit his stomach and he gagged. Mason grabbed his coat dragging him to his feet and slamming him into the wall. Chris stumbled, clumsily dodging the next hit and throwing a paper tray at Mason. He snatched the desk bell hurling it at Mason too. It hit him in the cheek, cutting through the skin. Mason snarled lunging for Chris.

Chris grabbed the stuffed Jack-a-lope, gripping its feet and swinging it like a bat. Mason stumbled when it hit him, and Chris darted to the side brining the animal down across Mason's back. The point of one of the antlers pierced through the clothing and skin.

Mason yelled in pain. "You bitch!"

Mason backhanded him knocking him into the wall. The man wrapped his hand in Chris's collar holding him as he slammed his fist into Chris's face. He did it again and again, until Chris sagged in his grip, then he threw him against the couch in the back room.

Chris slid to the floor moaning. He heard Mason huffing and pulled his eyes open. Mason was wrapping a cord around his hand then shoved it in his pocket. He picked a camera up off the table. Chris closed his eyes, the throbbing in his head unbearable. He heard another huff and then a click. A hand slapped his face.

"Wake up. Look at the camera. I'm gonna film everything I do to ya. I'm gonna make it hurt and I'm gonna film it all. You're gonna wish I killed ya. Hey, stay awake, bitch. You're gonna be awake for all of it. I'm gonna have my way with you, _pretty boy_. "

He slapped Chris's face again. Chris ground his teeth shifting. Another slap.

He was going to die. Mason was going to torture him and film it. And then he was going to kill him. He was dead. Part of Chris resigned, giving in to his fate. Another part screamed for him to not give up, to keep fighting.

And then Chris remembered the possum. The stupid possum Wyatt had swerved to keep from hitting on that stupid road. That stupid, godforsaken possum was the reason he was here. And what did possums do?

He slumped, letting his body fall motionless. He felt Mason step closer.

"Hey, you pass out and I'll make it ten times worse when you wake back up. I swear to god—"

Chris kicked out aiming for the man's groin. Judging from the gasp of pain and the sudden thump to the floor he'd hit his mark. He crawled for the door, dashing as fast as he could around the counter. There, on the floor, was the gun. He scrambled towards it, picking it up and spinning around.

Mason chuckled his own gun already pointed at Chris. "Bitch. Did you re—"

Chris cocked the gun, aimed and pulled the trigger. The report was deafening.

Mason flinched, face a mask of shock. "Bitch," he breathed.

Chris pulled the trigger again and again, wincing at each subsequent bang. He pulled the trigger until the gun stopped firing, and Mason fell forward onto the floor.

Chris let out his breath lowering the gun slightly and laughed not caring that he sounded hysterical. Hell, he probably was hysterical for all he knew. "I…am _not_ a girl. Stop calling me a bitch, you freaking grade A creepy bastard."

He scrambled forward pulling the other gun from Mason's limp hand and pointing it at him. He waited half expecting the man to get back up. He didn't.

Chris ran from the office pausing in the lot, the hot sun bearing down on him. What did he do now? His plan had stopped at killing Mason. Honestly, now that he actually had time to think about it, he hadn't counted on making it out. Now he needed to…needed to what?

His gaze landed on Wyatt, lying half shrouded in the shadow of the building, and his feet started carrying him in that direction before he consciously gave the command. He dropped to his knees beside his brother afraid to touch him.

Tears pooled in his eyes, burning relentlessly. Wyatt was too still, his too face slack, and his skin a pale blue tone.

"No," he whimpered. "No. No. Not you too, Wy. Not you too."

He sobbed collapsing on Wyatt's arm and clutching at his shirt.

Minutes before he'd focused on doing what needed done. On trying to make it out of here alive…and for what? So he could live alone and mostly likely committed to a psych ward? Wyatt was his everything. Wyatt had become his whole world. He couldn't live without his brother. He just couldn't. Yes, he'd wanted to move out. Yes, he'd wanted to distance himself from his brother as far as possible, but this wasn't what he'd wanted. The other way he still knew Wyatt was there, somewhere even if it wasn't under the same roof as him.

Chris choked fisting his hands in Wyatt's shirt. "I'm so sorry, Wy," he rasped. "How can I tell you how sorry I am? And for everything. Everything. I'm sorry for not driving careful. I'm sorry for not handling their deaths better. I'm sorry for being such a bitch to you. I'm sorry you had to try so hard to take care of me. I'm sorry for giving you hell about this trip. And I'm sorry I couldn't be stronger for you…I'm so—"

The blonde shifted.

Chris froze then sat up staring. Wyatt moaned, eyes opening just a little.

"Wy? Wy?" Chris asked pleading.

Wyatt swallowed. "Been…awhile since…you called me…that."

Chris shook his head wiping hurriedly at his tears. "I have to help you," he said. He looked around gaze landing on the office. The phone. "I'll be right back, Wy. I'll be right back."

Picking the gun back up he sprinted to the office ignoring Mason as he rushed to the back room. The phone was where it was before, but there was no dial tone when he picked it up. He slammed it down trying to figure out why.

The phone cord was gone.

He spun around frantically searching through the room. Cord. He darted back to Mason remembering the cord he'd tried to choke him with and the cord he'd wrapped in a ball and shoved in his pocket.

Chris kneeled beside him, swallowing, then slowly reaching into his pockets for the cord. His finger brushed plastic and his pulled it out laughing in relief when he saw it was the phone cord. He rushed back to the phone shakily shoving both ends in their spots and punching 911.

It rang, then, _"911 emergency." _

"I need an ambulance. My brother's been stabbed. I'm at the Prairie View Motel," Chris said quickly.

"_Sir?"_

"I need an ambulance at the Prairie View Motel. You sent an officer earlier. He's dead. My brother's stabbed. I don't know the address. Just send help. Please don't let my brother die."

"_Okay sir. Someone is on their way." _

Chris didn't wait to see what else they said. He was halfway across the lot back to Wyatt.

"Someone's coming Wy. You're gonna be okay. I need you and I love you so you have to be okay."

* * *

><p><em>Wyatt stared at the envelope in his hand. It was a plain white envelope, a decorative sheet of paper in it with the details of Paige's party. <em>

_He tapped it on his hand, leaning against the door frame to the living room, and looking at the sleeping form of his brother. _

_The brother who'd informed him he wanted to move out and away. Wyatt's heart clenched at the thought. He wasn't a dependent person by nature, but he wouldn't deny that he needed Chris right now. Chris was all the family he had left aside from his aunts who he saw a couple times a year. But Chris was it. _

_Wyatt sighed glancing again at the envelope. _

_Chris would protest vehemently no doubt about it, but they should go. It would be good for them to get away from the city for awhile. To take some time off to just relax and visit family. It would be good for him and it would be good for Chris to be around some of their family for just a while. _

_And maybe it would change Chris's mind about the whole moving out thing. Help him see that it would be better to stay with Wyatt._

_Yes. It would be good._

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><p><strong>So, how many of you want to read the epilogue? I'll have it up soon. <strong>

**Hope you all enjoyed this second to last chapter. **

**See ya around and maybe you'll drop me a word or two in a review. :D Hasta luego!**


	6. Epilogue

**Oh it's the last chapter. *sniff* It feels very odd to be ending a multi-chapter story. I'm actually quite proud of myself. **

**So I hope you all enjoyed it and here is the epilogue. **

**A Great BIG Thank you! to all my reviewers, especially those you stuck with me the whole way (of five chapters).**

**An equally big Thank you! to all my readers. **

**Review Responses:**

_**T.V programs rule: **_**You're welcome. I'm glad you liked the chapter, and I'm sure we are all happy Wyatt lived. I thought about actually killing him off, but then realized I'd made poor Chris suffer enough already. Thanks for reviewing. **

_**LolyChristine:**_** Thank you for the review. It's nice to know my stories are loved. :) **

_**Lizardmomma: **_**Thanks for the review. And yes after being stabbed Wyatt is mostly dead. You'll get to see how that pans out in the epilogue. **

_**Nichole: **_**Here's the epilogue so you get to finally see whether this brought Chris and Wyatt closer as brothers. Thanks for your review. BTW: I'm still lost as to what your other review means. Is it some sort of obscure reference or am I just stupid and not getting it? :) Cause I tend to do that. **

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><p><strong>Epilogue <strong>

Wyatt woke slowly. Gently floating on the undercurrents of consciousness for quite a few moments before even realizing what it was he was teasing the edge of.

The first thing he was fully aware of was the warm feeling of sheets wrapped around his body. Then the faint sterile smell. And then the dull ache in his stomach.

He blinked staring up at the white ceiling tiles. He frowned thinking backwards. The last thing he remembered was…was Chris. Chris calling him Wy. And before that…he'd been stabbed in the stomach by one of the killers, and he'd tried to crawl away only making it to the door.

He looked around finding himself alone in the room. A fleeting moment of panic was immediately quelled as he saw Chris just outside his room speaking with two uniformed officers.

Chris was dressed in baggy jogging pants and a too large grey sweatshirt. He had his arms wrapped around himself and he fidgeted nervously as he spoke. A large purplish bruise was blooming across his left cheekbone, and there was a row of stitches above his right eyebrow and along his chin.

After a moment the two police men left, and Chris slipped back into the room. He paused seeing Wyatt staring at him.

"You're awake." It was no more than a whisper.

Wyatt nodded.

Chris padded over to the plastic chair, tugging it close to the bed and sitting. He pulled his legs up to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. "How do you feel?"

Wyatt frowned pondering the question. He felt pretty good all things considered. "All right. They got me doped up on something?"

Chris grinned fleetingly, but it faded. "Yeah…"

Wyatt bit his lip. "What happened to your face?"

Chris's expression darkened. "Mason," he said roughly, swallowing. "And I wrecked your car," he added almost like an afterthought.

Wyatt's eyes widened before he chuckled and nodded. "How did we…I mean how did you…"

"I killed them." Wyatt blinked. Chris licked his lips nervously. "I ran one over with the car, uh, impaled the other with a nail, and shot Mason with his gun. Then I called 911."

Wyatt stared at him a moment and Chris looked away. His heart ached knowing his baby brother had needed to do what he had, but he forced himself to nod. "Good. You did good, Chris."

Chris squeezed his eyes shut sucking in short breaths. "I thought I'd lost you, Wy," he whispered. "I thought you were dead."

"Hey," Wyatt said, stretching to tap Chris's leg with his hand. "I'm right here. Right here."

Chris nodded reaching out to grasp Wyatt's hand. The sat in silence for a couple minutes before Chris spoke again.

"Wy?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"I was thinking. I don't want to move in with Darrel and Shelia."

Wyatt paused. "You sure?"

"Yeah. If it's okay with you."

"Course it is. Do you still want to move?"

"Yes."

"How far?"

"Out of the house. And the neighborhood."

"Out of the city?"

"Doesn't matter."

"We can just find somewhere small. I'd like that."

"And just start over? Like you said?"

"Yeah. We can do that. A clean start."

* * *

><p>"How about this one? Four, one, one, four, Albright Avenue. Two bedrooms, one bathroom. Single family home. One thousand eighty seven square feet."<p>

"You're not happy where we are now?" Wyatt asked laughing.

Chris lowered the paper grinning at him. "Course I am. But it's a little small, and you said it was only a temporary place."

Wyatt smiled reclining again on the blanket and staring up at the tree branches soaring above him. He heard the paper rustle and Chris started reading again.

"One, two, two, six, West sixty-second street. One thousand seven hundred ten square feet. It's a condo…"

Wyatt glanced at Chris. His brother peered at the paper absorbedly, gaze bright and intent. Strands of his dark hair brushed across his forehead contrasting nicely with his olive toned skin. Moving out of the manor had truly done wonders for Chris. His complexion had lost its usual pallor, his nightmares had lessened to a manageable amount, and his mental health had improved tenfold. And Wyatt had to admit it had helped him too. He hadn't realized the toll Chris's state and being in that house had been taking on him.

"Ooh how about this? Two, six, three, two, Claray drive, number sixty eight. Three bedrooms, two full bathrooms, one partial. Two thousand five hundred fifty two square feet. Cathedral ceilings, hard wood floors—"

"Do we really need all that space?" Wyatt said.

Chris frowned as if considering it. "Nah. Guess not. You're not that huge. There's this—One, zero, zero, two, one, Tabor street, number one hundred one. Two bedrooms and two bathrooms. One thousand two hundred seventy nine square feet. It's a another condo though."

Wyatt closed his eyes, sighing contently. He could sit in this park forever, listening to Chris list off places and enjoying the fresh summer air.

"Six, one, seven, Keenan Avenue. Three bedrooms and one bathroom. Wait, here. Five, six, two, six, Bowcroft street. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms. One thousand, seven hundred forty eight square feet. High ceilings and hardwood floors," Chris said.

"I like the sound of that," Wyatt replied propping his arms behind his head. Chris shifted and there was a slight popping sound as he pulled the lid off the pen off followed by the light scratch of pen on paper as he circled the ad.

"Me too," Chris said in agreement

The paper rustled once more for a moment.

"Five, one, zero, six, Monte Bonito drive. Sounds Mexican, doesn't it? _Bonito…_three bedrooms, two bathrooms. One thousand two hundred fifty two square feet…"

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><p><strong>Short and sweet. And the end. <strong>

**Hope you all enjoyed**


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